(o) lost so much from overthinking

pacific coast highway in the movies, you promised me sunshine, why's it gloomy?

Sunsets in Torchline were perhaps his favorite thing as of late. Especially in Haulani, with the way the water seemed to lap against the edge of the world, the way the sun reflected off each branching wave, the way the buildings of homes cast long dark shadows down the rows of them. And with Deepfrost quickly approaching, the streets were mostly devoid of people – too focused on staying home and preparing rather than leisurely lounging around despite the temperature being still relatively moderate.

He’s leaving the Slagveld after a day of ensuring the ring is cleaned and up to par, after a moment of a workout as well – but this of course leaves a light sheen of sweat along his skin, wearing little more than a sleeveless shirt to let the breeze hit along tattooed skin to cool off, hair a bit mussed from running his hands through it a few too many times. It’d be a long trek back home, and part of him spends the walk down the alley debating on whether or not he should fly home or enjoy the breeze and the walk for what it was.

A few merchants still remain out along the street, and he nods to some of them that recognize him, a few others are granted a quick peek into the wares they sell, though they do so with cautious eyes on the hilt of daggers that can be seen beneath the pockets of his clothing. Still, he ends up with nothing, still in that internal debate and spending the time soaking up the last of the sun’s rays before it dips below the horizon – an aimless wander along the streets he’d helped save what felt like ages ago.

we'll wait 'til the night to catch the moonbeam

SUNJATA

I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art

Oh, Haulani. Back to normal (sans volcano now, of course), and with a whole season of hosting the Ark and her crew. A bunch of troublemakers with itchy feet - it was never going to end well, truly. So as Sunjata meandered his wicked way through the streets and back alleyways, it wasn't so surprising that he would come upon a ruckus. It was quiet, as fights went, though that was likely due to the man overseeing the entire thing.

At the mouth of a skinny side street, Jack watched the scuffle with a cigarette between his lips and eyes like blue flint. His knuckles were bloody but he was out of the fight by and large. The same could not be said of the two members of his crew, busy kicking the shit out of some men who had tried to short-change the smugglers on some goods they had delivered. Jack knew that to be the case, but really it didn't call for this kind of beating.

Mostly, they were just bored.

pacific coast highway in the movies, you promised me sunshine, why's it gloomy?

Of course, peace doesn’t last long. Not when it comes to Torchline. And as he meanders down the alley, the sound grows a bit louder. And seeing as he’s the Arbiter now, it’s something he has to pay attention to. Well, maybe not have to, but certainly something that he’ll likely regret if he ignores it. So, for the umpteenth time, he runs a hand through his hair, heaves a sigh, and makes his way toward the sound – spotting Jack to nobody’s surprise.

With bloody knuckles to boot.

So he makes his way over toward the smuggler’s side, arms crossing along a chest sticky with sweat of the workout, inclining his head toward Jack, neck peppered with recent Ascended bites on full display. “Let me guess, bad deal?” A raise of his brow – imagining that it was either that or someone tried to steal something. It could go either way, and he leaves it for the other man to explain or not, doesn't affect him any. Though, perhaps, if it comes down to it he is already warmed up for a fight.

we'll wait 'til the night to catch the moonbeam

SUNJATA

I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art

Jack's eyes flicked up from the scene in the alleyway perhaps a moment sooner than they ought have, as Sunjata entered the range of his telepathy, and he offered the Arbiter a charming smile and a drag from the cigarette. All the while the beating in the alleyway continued. "Somethin' like that," he drawled, exhaling a haze of smoke. "How's business, Arbiter?"

One look at the man told an interesting story, even without the sorts of skills Jack had. His gaze lingered on the bruising that covered Sunjata's neck, eyebrows briefly raising - what the fuck were Ascended bites anyway - before he put his fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle directed at the crew. "Enough," he said. Straightening up, the two men caught one look at Jata and offered a respectful nod, before lumbering out of the alley and away towards the docks at Jack's orders.

pacific coast highway in the movies, you promised me sunshine, why's it gloomy?

A huff of a laugh is given toward Jack at the comment, before his shoulders rise and fall in a small shrug and he turns a rogue grin toward the other man. “Not bad.” He offers, a ghost of a smirk shifting that rogue grin briefly. But he watches, instead, gaze flickering back toward the beating that goes down as Jack whistles and tells them enough, spying the nod from the two men and offering one of his own in response to that.

“Y’know, maybe next time keep it a bit more quiet.” A snort leaves him as he turns his steel gaze back toward Jack, a bit of amusement gleaming within. It wasn’t the type of crime he was after, really, mostly the bigger crimes anyway, not squabbles over who got paid what and who got shorted where. Besides, he’d already given Jack his word that he really didn’t care what went on unless he got involved. “How’s your business? Prepping for Deepfrost?” A casual wonder if they’ll be spending it here or on the ship.

we'll wait 'til the night to catch the moonbeam

SUNJATA

I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art

"Good to hear it." Jack didn't spare a glance at the moaning couple of guys in the alley; they would live, his telepathy told him that much, so he turned as if to start walking back the way Sunjata had approached, trusting the other man to follow. "Apologies, Arbiter," he said on the noise complaint, and meant it. "That sort of business usually belongs in the Fingers, but as you well know, it ain't so easy to navigate the tunnels these days."

Taking another drag on the cigarette, Jack offered a nod of greeting to one of the remaining merchants packing up his stall. "Strangled," he said of his business, unable to keep the bitter note from his voice. "New Governor, same rules. But with the volcano and the rest of it, we didn't sail for Leafchange. We are meant to be pulling into the docks about now." He wrinkled his nose. "So yeah, it's Deepfrost prep from here. Flowerbirth can't come soon enough, though."

Nodding towards the port and the Hanged Man, Jack moved as if to go that way. "Want a drink?" Casual bribery and all that.

pacific coast highway in the movies, you promised me sunshine, why's it gloomy?

Sunjata pays little attention to the victims of it as well, turning on his heel to follow Jack as he begins to walk the way Sunjata had come from. His steel gaze focuses on the pathway ahead, a light snort slipping from him in response to the Fingers. “Perhaps a new route is something we could manage.” A raise of his brow to that as he considers it. A new set of tunnels to create and use for the shadier deals, away from families.

But his focus is on the mention of business, pulling out his own cigarette from a pocket, the lighter with it that Libbs had made, lighting it with practiced ease. “What do you need for it?” The prep, that is, wondering if there’s other things that could be done in the meantime. But it fades at the mention of a drink and a slight smirk curls on the corner of his lip, trails of smoke lingering along his skin. “Absolutely.” It’s an easy agreement, something that he’d prefer after the workout at the Slagveld. Muscles are already slightly sore, and it would be a long trip home but worth it at the end with Nate possibly waiting for him there.

we'll wait 'til the night to catch the moonbeam

SUNJATA

I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art

"Mm, you aren't the first one to suggest it. Raza has explored down there, says there's somethin' big lurkin' around. Reckon there's plans already in motion to map the place out or to forge somethin' new, but whatever-it-is cloggin' up the place will have to be dealt with first." And by reckon, Jack meant that he knew that it was the case - Zephyr was on it, if his conversation with Raza and the other smuggler was anything to go by.

Nodding as Sunjata agreed to come for a drink, Jack led them away down the street towards the glittering lights of the port and the ever-twilight of the Hanged Man. "Well, if we'd set sail it would've been business as usual. Offload stock, check in with deals that were made, make trades, get paid," he explained. "Now? Just takin' stock of what we have, keepin' the ship in good nick, stayin' on top of business deals and hunkerin' down for Longnight."

pacific coast highway in the movies, you promised me sunshine, why's it gloomy?

His head inclines a small amount toward Jack with the explanation, thinking of Raza and the creature they’d found. He’d been on that venture too, Raza had sat on his back while he was in his orca shift trying to navigate the water of the tunnels, his sword in her hand. And there’s a nod that’s granted back toward Jack with the idea of dealing with the creature. “Once we find out, if you need an extra hand, you know where to find me.” An offering – because he’d likely benefit from those tunnels just as much as the next.

But the idea of a drink has him relaxing ever so slightly, following Jack’s lead as they walk down the alley toward the Hanged Man, his question aired and Jack’s response filling up the warm dusk air. “What do you do for LongNight here, besides just the hunkering down?” He asks instead. To hunker down had to mean something other than just staying indoors that long week, he thinks. Still, his mind drifts back to the last LongNight, with words written in blood and him, Lusea, and Loren setting the Rathskeller ablaze to get the invisible monsters out. He swallows hard with it, focusing instead on what answer he might receive, hoping it's infinitely better.

we'll wait 'til the night to catch the moonbeam

SUNJATA

I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art

"I'll keep it in mind, but you're better off throwin' your lot in with the two of them. I ain't any interest in gettin' killed," he said bluntly. Jack used the tunnels, he didn't own them. And he was out for himself, besides. Odds were that by the time any of them headed down into the Fingers to deal with the whatever it was, he'd be sailing again anyway. Shoving his bloodied hands in his pockets as they walked, Jack glanced over his shoulder at Jata's question, his expression briefly clouding with the thoughts that overtook the Arbiter's mind.

Longnight in the Hollowed Grounds certaintly seemed like a grand affair. "Can't speak for the rest of Torchline, but it's a party for my crew," he said with a smirk. "Not much to do other than make bonfires on the beach, drink and skinny dip. Deepfrost isn't exactly cold here, for all the name of the season."

pacific coast highway in the movies, you promised me sunshine, why's it gloomy?

“Fair enough.” Comes the chuckle from Sunjata. He gets it. But at the same time, Sunjata had quite a habit of diving head first into stupid decisions and having to live with the consequences of everything involved with that. A certain wedding comes to mind before shoving it down and a shake of his head, focusing instead on the answer he receives as to what LongNight here is like.

And in comparison? It sounds incredible. Warmth compared to the frigid temperatures of the Grounds that he was wholly unprepared for every time. “Mm, well, can’t wait for that then.” He agrees with a chuckle, hunkering down in the confines of his home with Nate and not much else do to – no monsters to keep from entering his home at the very least – certainly sounded appealing.

The Hanged Man comes into view, and his head lifts toward it, scanning it as he usually does – for no other reason other than to simply look. “What’s your go-to drink?’ He asks, having heard a few different answers from varying people what they chose to drink. Still, Sunjata’s favorite would always be whiskey – far too nostalgic for anything less.

we'll wait 'til the night to catch the moonbeam

SUNJATA

I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art

Picking idly through the thoughts and memories that danced through Sunjata's head, Jack packed away anything important for later reflection in an act that was so passive now it was almost chilling. Or it would have been, if anyone had known what he was up to. "I've heard that things are not so peaceful in other places," he said as they reached the Hanged Man, shouldering through the door; it was busy enough, but not yet late enough to be raucous.

"Me? Anythin' cold," he remarked about his drinking habits. "Whiskey, rum and beer are the most common to find behind this bar. What about you?" He was already ordering two whiskeys in his head, but it was polite to let Sunjata finish.

pacific coast highway in the movies, you promised me sunshine, why's it gloomy?

Unknown to Sunjata, of course, is the fact that Jack’s going through his mind. “It’s pretty shitty in the Grounds.” He offers, recalling setting the Rathskeller ablaze, letting in the refugees from the Monster Hunter’s Guild, getting far too drunk and stepping outside to check on the nerds of Luxere and that strange man that spoke to him and Loren outside. “Lots of monsters, lots of death.” A shrug of his shoulders before they reach the bar and he’s asking what kind of drink Jack goes for.

The answer is pretty pleasing, however, as Sunjata’s gaze scans the bar once again. “Whiskey’s mine.” He offers, it had been a staple in Korofi. Had been the one he’d gotten drunk off the most in the resistance. He looks back to Jack as he mentions it, having already spent a fair amount of his time drinking rum in this very bar. He’s got plenty of whiskey back home, but it wasn’t the same drinking it there versus here with the atmosphere around the Hanged Man itself.

we'll wait 'til the night to catch the moonbeam

SUNJATA

I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art

"It sounds delightful," Jack muttered, his smile wry as he glanced across at Sunjata and tapped on the bar to order two whiskeys. "I bet you'll be glad to be spendin' it here instead. Though if your monsters find their way to Torchline you can bet your ass that there'll be blood." And not the kind where monsters tore up the beach; no, Jack foresaw riots from any citizens who felt their customs were being disrespected (or, y'know, being threatened with death).

Sliding the glass to Sunjata, Jack slouched onto one of the stools, not feeling like they needed to slink off to some table somewhere; besides, shamelessly it looked good to see the Arbiter drinking in a place full of Jack's sort of people. "You from the Hollowed Grounds originally?" he asked.