[SE] and I'm a shadow of a ghost

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

Two bags worth of clothing, tradeable goods and the few precious possessions left from her old home. A pair of beautiful, silver daggers with gold-ivory hilts secured to her belt. A simple knife tucked into the hilt of a boot, and the black shawl slung loosely around her shoulders. Aside from the clothes on her back and the bow held in her hands, it was all Maea owned of worldly possessions. She had fit it all in there, a light load to carry when she left.

The room had been picked clean of her existence, no traces left that she had ever called this place home. Or well... there was a pot of lavender flowers standing on the small table. She frowned at it, not sure what to do. It would not survive the trip to Halo, but she wasn't sure she could leave it either. If she should.

It was quite difficult to leave overall. The packed bags stood waiting by the open door, yet she couldn't bring herself to cross the threshold. Turning the battered, salt-stained bow over between her fingers, the white-haired, pale faced girl sank down on the made bed with a sigh, heavy as lead. Heavy as her thoughts, as her swollen, red-rimmed eyes...

Heavy as a heart quietly breaking, unprepared for a 'goodbye' she'd never wanted to say.

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh

MELITA

Melita might have been doing the same – bags packed, worldly possessions put into one thing or another, promises set aside, chin raised, defiant against whatever the realm decided to hang upon her next – except she wasn’t.

Instead she stared at the memorial wall for what seemed like minutes on end, eyes tracing over the patterns of lanterns and images of those that had left them behind. A simple pondering, a mystic wondering, if Clementine’s light should come with her, upon decks, out at sea, if the earthly desires and yearnings for family had simply died and perished here too.

Then she moved, turning away from the flickering flames, adjusting the feral sigh threatening to sit and seethe in her chest, roaming, roaming, roaming, an endless paradigm of wandering, of shifting, of trying to be better when she simply could not. Down the hall, following familiar fault lines and thresholds, thinking of going to her room and piecing together portions so the packing wouldn’t be so ridiculous in the end. Except her stare trace over an assemblage of satchels outside one particular door.

She thought to sneer, to narrow her eyes at the ghostly contortions and will them to leave on her own. Except she hadn’t needed to, and upon glancing along the open aperture, there was the pale figure, the wraith of the bar, sunken upon the bed. The youth was half-tempted to simply continue, winding along the intervals, ignore the woman entirely, flicker her embers elsewhere. Except she heaved a sigh, and addressed, shaking her head all the while, the wild ringlets bounding across shoulders, down her back, as rapacious and kindled as their beholder. “Did he toss you aside too?” Because it was a typical Sunjata maneuver; familiar, and patterned.

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

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

A presence shadowed the doorstep. She tensed, thinking it might be Sunjata, and wasn't sure she could face him. To keep a smile on her face and assure everything was fine, that she would be alright. Right now... it wouldn't be very true.

But the shadow wasn't dark enough, or tall enough, and when it spoke, it belonged to someone else. A girl with fire in her hair and ire in her eyes, and Maea was surprised to see Melita stand there when she looked up.

The question was cutting. Sharp and merciless.

"I'm... not sure," Maea admitted. Looking down at the bow in her hands - the bow he had given her - she rubbed a thumb over the salt stains on the wood. "He says he isn't. That he just needs time. But... I'm not sure." There was a quiet pain in her voice, and though she tried to smile it was weak, as uncertain as her reply.

"I figured... I might as well give him proper space for a while. See if it helps. If he... really meant any of the things he said."

Taking a deep breath, she looked up again. Regarded the girl, remembering the way she had been ignored before, during the work on the boxing ring.

"You don't like me, do you? Because I'm with him..." It wasn't really a question.

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh

MELITA

Maybe that’s all she was now: sharp and merciless, unrelenting, angry, the brutal, mercurial temper unleashed when cataclysms never ceased. Her eyes went to the bow, and in another lifetime, another void, another world, she might have asked about it, one of her favorite weapons. But today she was fire and irritation, bristling, grating, grinding on the edges of her fumes, narrowing her eyes at the nature of Sunjata’s distortions and everything nestled in between. Nothing simple. Nothing easy.

Needed time. Sunjata didn’t know what the hell he needed at any given moment. Maybe it was a way to push Maea aside, as he’d done with so many others since Lusea’s death. Her shoulders lifted in an unhelpful shrug, incapable of answering for either fool.

The words came across crisp and clear though, and the youth snorted. “Not particularly.” Whether or not the meaning slashed along in Melita not liking her simply out of some other intonations or because she was with Sunjata (though that didn’t seem to be the case anymore) remained unsaid, vague. Maea wasn’t Lusea; the flame a favorite, an unleashed haven the youth had adored. Then she was gone. Her head tilted a fraction, considered the weight to her words. “Is there a reason I should like you?” All she knew of the woman were her pale comings and goings; ghostly sightings down hallways, transfixed on the Flood. The honeybee child wondered if she’d be like an ill omen, a grave, a catacomb for him now too – all phantom boundaries, refusing to release chains.

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

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

No answers, but then again, Maea hadn't expected any. If she and Sunjata couldn't find them the way they were now, how could Melita? The girl didn't know anything of what had passed between them, only judged what she saw from the outside. Oh, no doubt she knew her uncle well enough to make educated guesses, but... she didn't know.

"I guess not," Maea replied, to the curt reply. Figures. "But I don't think there's a reason for me to be disliked either. I've done nothing to offend you, as far as I know." Though she raised a brow at her while saying it, as if inviting to offer contradiction.

From the bags, a small glow kindled and came drifting out, a hazy ball of some illusion of fire, colored a weary blue. Maea wasn't sure if the will-o-wisp actually slept, or if it just mimicked the motions to soothe her worries, but now it played at being roused and vexed, its temper seething and swelling almost in mirror of Melita's. Shii began to spiral up around the fire-haired girl, its circles drawing in ever closer, and as it came in level with her face, the hues of the orb began to pulse ominously. Blue, white, blue white, its glow growing stronger for each pass. Soon it would be incandescent, blinding; clearly set on irritating the girl as much as possible.

Great, just what she needed.

"Shii, please stop that," Maea groaned, and stood, coming over to try and catch the wisp before it could set anything off.

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh

MELITA

Based on what she’d seen, what she’d heard on Sunjata’s experiences, she didn’t want to know about their relationship. No thanks.

Unfortunately for Maea, Melita’s instincts on others either ran towards compassion, generosity, effervescence, or entirely in the opposite direction: prone to pettiness, to grudges, to a seething torrent of capricious, mercurial inclinations. It could’ve been the fire within her. It could’ve been just a system of flaws. It could’ve been that she didn’t give much of a damn about what the world wanted from her, and more upon what she intended to grant back. To those she cherished and loved, it was everything.

To those in the here and now, it wasn’t much.

She shrugged, offering no hints to her onslaught, a rampant immaturity she’d yet to outgrow. There wasn’t much else to say or do, and the girl likely would’ve turned to walk away regardless, not a second thought, perhaps the barest hint of a wave, had the will-o-wisp not bound out of bags, its bright, vicious glow prospering towards her. She’d met them within the Greatwood, hadn’t been overly fond or inclined in one way or another; knew they were often tempted to lead others astray. Her eyes widened instinctively at its light, at its pervading essence, then eyelids shut, snapped tightly altogether; the glow still present behind them. A vicious snort ensued from her chest. “Cute,” intent on remaining an irritant. Fangorn, nestled at her ankles, growled and hissed his own contortions.

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

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

Maea snatched at the wisp to catch it in a cage of her fingers, but it darted off. Drifted away, to bob a teasing dance around the vampire gourd, to perhaps entice it into a game, a chase, to see what kind of mischief it could make, alone or together.

Melita's snort caused Maea to glance at her; had to look up, as the younger woman was almost a full head taller than herself. "Oh, it thinks so too," she responded dryly. "It's been a pain ever since it started following me around." But a welcome one, unlike... others. They made a strange contrast to each other. Like fire and ice, embers and snowflakes, hot and cold. Not for the first time in her life, this pale ghost wished she could have some of that heat within her too. That relentless passion. Hers always felt... erratic. Like a dry ice explosion, violent and dangerous when it happened, but gone too soon, and so very difficult to rile up.

"For what it's worth, I genuinely love him," she told Melita, a little more quiet. Folded her arms to her chest, wrapping hands around thin ribs, and realized that she really should try to eat more. 'Pokey' had not been an exaggeration. "Got any advice, for a fool you don't particularly like? You know him far better than me..."

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh

MELITA

Fangorn, eternally loyal to a fault, wasn’t inveigled or tempted into a game. Instead, he opened his gaping maw to unveil a large set of fangs, a warning growl, a warring front, a protective threshold, a persistent survivor through and through. Melita, finally lifting her lids to peek through the haze of light, did naught to stop him.

She made no comment on the companion or its bewildering, bizarre complexities; she couldn’t really, when she’d snagged a vampire gourd ages ago, when everyone else, including her, had been butchering and slaughtering them out of sheer irritation. Instead, her attention went to the other notions, the I genuinely love him component, causing one brow to lift, an arch of defiance. The youth cherished him for familial ties, but she could imagine he was a difficult being to devote one’s time too – especially when he didn’t seem insistent on doing the same. She nearly asked why, because she’d been just as vexed with him lately, easily tossed aside, forgotten, in the expanse of the ghostly woman before her, and everyone, everything, else. He was moody and mercurial, prone to impulsive, impetuous designs, and seemingly incapable of forming consistent lines. Not since Lusea, and even then –

“I’m not sure I can help you there.” She shrugged, not sure if she wanted to either. “He’s an idiot.” If that was said with some token affection for moronic imbeciles, then it might have been embedded in her tones, in the tilt of her head.

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

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

Maea actually huffed a small laugh at the directness. Unswerving, unapologetic; at least on her part, she thought she could really come to like this person, given half a chance. "That he is," she agreed, a smile brightening her features for a while. Softened it, warmed it; her own affection was undeniable.

Rubbing the back of her neck, in a gesture quite similar to one Sunjata usually made, Maea regarded the gourd and the wisp. Watched Shii dart away from the snapping fangs, and keep up its annoying dance. Just... a little furter away. Out of harms reach.

"I... had a few plans, for his birthday," she told Melita. Glanced at her sideways, wary of the girl stalking off again before she had finished speaking. "Thought to bring some people together, and celebrate it with him. As a surprise. I'm... not sure he'd still want me there, or be in the mood for such a thing. But if he is, and does... would you come? I know he would be happy to see you, if no one else. It's one of the few times he actually smiles properly, when he talks about you."

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh

MELITA

Melita fought over the predilection to frown, sneer, or gag at Maea’s initial reaction, and then the picked up habits of movement. Gods, no wonder they were fissured, splintered, and fragmented away from one another. Fangorn ignored Shii’s attempts at gameplay, focused primarily on the sentiments billowing and unfolding between the two women.

The honeybee child’s brow furrowed to an intense, irritated degree though at the question spiraling. “I’m confused. Aren’t you on a break?” Why would she be orchestrating all these plans, without his knowledge or consent, especially when he’d proclaimed they were on different routes and aspects? That their relationship was on pause. That they were maneuvering in separated ways. Perhaps Melita had misinterpreted and misunderstood the nature of what the whole damn thing meant (or vice versa). She tilted her head, a dangerous look coiling its way through her gilded eyes, suddenly protective of the Flood, despite his rampant idiocy and delusions. “Why would you hold something he might not want?” Nonsensical, bewildering, madness; she’d celebrate his existence if he craved that, but not flicker into this bizarre manifestation.

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

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

It seemed she had been too vague. Not direct enough, not clear enough... which, in her defense, was not easy when the situation was so complex. And how did she explain it to Melita, without revealing all aspects of the issues both Maea and Sunjata were trying to deal with?

"We are, in the sense that we had a row. And that we are taking time away from one another, to cool off. Think about what we want for ourselves, as individuals. But I still hope that we will sort things out. And even if our current relation ends, I'm still his friend. I want to do something for him that is good."

Breathing in deeply, Maea looked down at the bow in her hands. Wiped more of the salt from the wood, uneasy under Melita's relentless eyes. "I hope he wants it. A birthday celebration. To have friends gathered, share food and drink, spend time with people who are genuinely fond of him.

"But of course I would not force it on him, if he preferred not to. That's why I'm not sure how to go about it. Whether it should be a surprise or not."

There were other things to figure out too, like location, who to invite, other such details.

But they paled in question to whether she and the Flood would have sorted anything out before the season was over.

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh

MELITA

“So you’re giving one another space, and then…you want to bombard it?” The girl’s face had scrunched up into a modicum of confusion, a wrinkle to her nose, to her brow, a hand coming up to soften between the space between her eyes, as if it a headache was pending to take shape. In truth, the matters they were dealing with weren’t her business, and she wasn’t about to ask – most of this entire conversation was for Sunjata’s sake, attempting to segment off some impending damage, some unfurling spread of disaster. “Even if you mean well, he still might not welcome it.” Hadn’t he had enough lately? Hadn’t he done enough lately? And who would even come to this damned gathering, after each trial, tribulation, and conflict he’d immersed himself within? Some of the Grounds held him personally responsible for four deaths, some were incredibly irritated at his home-wrecking abilities, and then some were still enraged they had to attend a wedding endeavored purely by hatred, spite, and vitriol; a grand waste of time.

She sighed, leaning heavily upon the doorframe, dropping her arms down to her sides in a gesture of uncertainty. “I think you should ask first. While the kind gesture is there, it may not be what he needs or wants right now.” Time, and to get himself collected, out of the ruts he continually ran himself within, would likely be better suited. “Relying on hope isn’t the greatest strategy.” For anything.

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

Maea

And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die

Would it be a bombardment? Maea hadn't thought of it that way, but... perhaps Melita was right. It might be a foolish, stupid thing to do. Might do more harm than good, might give Sunjata more to consider, more headaches than he already had.

Or... it might be something to lighten a dark patch of his life. Offer support and aid when he thought himself deserving of none. Take his mind off the mistakes of his past, and see that there were things he had done right too.

But it all came down to him, in the end... So Maea nodded, accepting the advice gratefully. "I will do that, then," she said, easily agreeing to the offered words. Not doubting that this girl knew Sunjata better than her, as Maea had only a season of interaction with him to fall back on. Did he even appreciate surprises?

"I know. But sometimes hope is all you have, especially while waiting for someone else to figure out if you have a place in their life." Maea tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and shrugged lightly. "I think it's worth the risk of pain... so I will wait, and hope, and see what happens."

Calling Shii back from the snap-toothed gourd, Maea tried to meet Melita's gaze. "If he says he wants the celebration... do you want to come?" Back to the main question. Maea thought the niece's presence should be obvious, since she was kin, but thought it best not to take anything for granted.

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh

MELITA

If truths were to be shared, Melita didn’t quite understand this pale woman. While her love and devotion towards Sunjata were evident, it also seemed to be the only thing she discussed. Perhaps that was due to the honeybee child’s existence, niece and kin to the Flood, but didn’t Maea have anything else to occupy her time? Her eyes wandered from the aspects of the room, already taken apart, and down to the bow in the ghost’s hands. Melita thought of her own quiver, ready and eager to be unfurled, unleashed, with fire, with vitriol, and the bracelet tucked along her wrist, fervent for the fray.

Her gaze riveted back to the phantom, merely arching a brow at her agreement. Hope being all she had though – the youth thought about sneering back a retort, but instead let it die, let it fade. Some aspects of it sounded desperate, and others just sad. Maea might be waiting decades for Sunjata to figure out what the hell he was doing in his life. Maybe this was why she was only tied to people by familial bonds, or why she didn't focus on romantic involvements. There was always a possibility of compassion and adoration, but also everything being torn asunder. She'd had enough of that in her short life.

The question ambled back to her again though. The girl pretended to ponder: the only thing that would hold her back was the possibility of joining the Ark’s crew; if she’d be busy manning cannons, loading supplies, or exploring the world. “I will try,” was the only thing she could surmise, the slightest smile etched in the corner of her mouth.

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