MELITA
This was what she’d initially been uncertain of – the drama, the theatrics, the bizarre conflagrations surrounding Sunjata. Make no mistake, she knew her uncle wasn’t perfect, she’d already been on his case several times about various matters, that he might’ve been far more impulsive and impetuous than herself, but this was meant to be a cause for celebration. Did they need to drag apart everything? Did they need to exploit errors? Wasn’t there a better time, a better place (like the boxing ring?) Her eyes wandered over the crowd, narrowing at Amun’s antics, wondering why he’d even bothered if this was just going to be a sulky prestige. “Don’t worry about it then,” she shrugged and extended to both Nate and Sunjata, which was too bad, because she always rather liked the Ascended. The melancholy clinging over the foundations was simply too much. “It’s not about him.” Then she saw Remi off in the distance, and Wessex, and the age-old days of before clung to her, a desperation for normalcy that wouldn’t come again. They’d all altered, changed, as quick as the coming tides, and her gaze merely fell back to Weaver as she offered a drink.
“Gods, yes. Thank you. I think I’m going to need it.” An impish smile to follow, hand extending to accept the glass, watching more interactions play out that weren’t as moody or soured. Taking more than a few sips, because she intended to guzzle her way down to some sort of inebriation before this spectacle was over, the devilish grin didn’t flee, carried on in its existence. “Anything we want to do? Any games?” It might’ve spoken of her youthfulness, to carry on in amusements and diversions, but she’d much rather commit to those actions than stand around and snark at one another.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
