We have highs and we have lows

May your past be the sound

The funeral had been hard, though least of all for him. He hadn't known the woman, the queen, the mother of his lover. After seeing her likeness painted over and over again, and hearing stories of her here and there, he felt he had known her, in some ways at least. Her similarity in appearance to Kia couldn't be denied, and her tenacity for life seemed to be genetic too - he felt like he could have been friends with her, could have respected her as a queen, could have enjoyed hearing about her life before portals came and disrupted everything.

He gave the hand he was holding a squeeze, as they made their way through the settlement. But when it came time to enter the house, he gave a gentle tug, a silent nod to the path that would take them on a wander through the ruins that littered the place, a hint of a smile softening his expression.

He didn't know for certain if she needed to walk, to move, but he knew he was feeling too restless to lock themselves back up in to a house for the afternoon. Let them walk, let them move and stretch their legs, and get this restless energy out of their system. He lifted the hand he held to his lips to press a kiss to it. He had no surprises in store for her here, just himself, his company, his heart.

"What's on your mind?" he asked softly, knowing full well what the answer might be, and asking anyway, prepared to catch her should she need him, prepared to hear her out, no matter what she might need to say.

of your feet upon the ground

CHULANE

KIADA

your battleworn tongue doesn't say the truth;

that you are ruined

There is a lot on her mind. Fixing up her home after LongNight had destroyed part of it, her mother’s death, a combination of trying to ensure that Deimos doesn’t lose it while trying to keep herself together as well, working on repairing a relationship with Bastien and her half sibling that remained here in Caido, a sudden protectiveness that’s overcome Kiada that she hadn’t expected at all.

The walk proves as a nice distraction, her hand in Chulane’s, gaze focused straight ahead on the walk they take. She knows she can be honest with him, knows that she can tell him anything and he’ll understand, and that’s all Kiada can really ask for, isn’t it? The Harpy doesn’t know what she wants to start with, though, her gaze flickering over toward him as he lifts her hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to it.

She’s quiet for a moment after his question is aired, trying to figure out where exactly she wants to start. “I’m… Sad I didn’t get a chance to fix my relationship with my mom.” She admits quietly – better to start with the harder things than to delve and spiral deeper. Better to get it off her chest at the beginning.

and you wonder why he lets you,

the butcher

touch him

the sun

May your past be the sound

He let the quiet stretch on as long as it needed to, let her gather her thoughts, let her decide on where this conversation might go. He was under no illusion that he could fix anything for her, that he could hear whatever she needed to say and provide a solution for her, but he knew he needed to be here for her regardless, as she had for him so many times already since his arrival in this world of chaos and magic. Already she was accepting of his presence, his questions, not pulling away or hiding from them, instead demonstrating by the very first thing she had to say that though she might not be 'ready' to talk about such things, she would try her best anyway.

And that was all he could ever ask of her.

He nodded and hummed a low note to acknowledge her words, to show that he heard them, that he considered them seriously, and with all the care they deserved. Kia hadn't revealed much about her mother to him, only that the version that had existed on this world was different in some way to the one who had birthed her, but then, who was he to apply logic and science to a situation that clearly wasn't logical or scientific?

"Understandable," his words tried to validate her feelings, to confirm that he heard them, that he felt them too, a sorrow for the relationship she would never mend between her and the fallen queen. With another squeeze of his hand to remind her that he was there for her, he spoke again: "What would you have said to her?" He was no substitute for the fallen mother, for the one she longed to mend relationships with, but perhaps he could help her to get the words out, to give her a chance to express herself in a way that was otherwise lost to her.

of your feet upon the ground

CHULANE

KIADA

your battleworn tongue doesn't say the truth;

that you are ruined

It’s like ripping off a bandaid, the wound pulling in the air around it, stinging and painful, aching but only to heal. And it sucks, honestly, but at least she has Chulane there as well as Deimos and Amalia to make it bearable. She’s tired of losing people, tired of getting close and losing them. If she holds Chulane’s hand a bit too tight this time, she pretends to not notice – as if she might let go of his hand and he disappear too.

Her head tilts toward him, tired blue eyes searching his face as he asks her what she’d have said. And she contemplates it, swallowing hard and taking a few deep breaths while they walk through the Ruins. “That I’m sorry.” She begins, hand flexing slightly before she shakes her head a bit. “Sorry that I judged this version of her from the last one. That I think she would’ve made a good mom, learned from her mistakes. That I’m glad… I’m glad she has Bastien who treated her so much better than my father had.” A muscle feathers in her jaw and she shakes her head.

“That I miss her.” This comes out softer, quieter, as if she doesn’t want to say it aloud for the fear of letting it consume her again.

and you wonder why he lets you,

the butcher

touch him

the sun

May your past be the sound

Hands held tightly, he did not shy away from the increased pressure, holding it with his own firm, supportive grip. He'd never quite been one to ponder on the likelihood of his or his loved ones' demise, but being thrust into this world had certainly brought about a new perspective.

But he was also one to focus on the present, on what they did have, on what they could control. And this, right here, right now, was something they could control, they could live, enjoy, in each other's company.

He met her gaze with his own solemn one, wanting nothing but to be there for her, to hear everything she had to say, to provide a sort of cathartic release for her. And he listens when she speaks, hearing every word, treating them as if they were some of the most precious he'd ever heard.

Subtly, he led them through the ruins, letting her words stir between them, pausing as she utters the last soft words as a sort of confession. He pulled her into a hug then, breathing her in, wanting to imply how grateful he was at her strength, at her willingness to even participate in this conversation with him.

"I think those are good words to say, with your heart, that she might hear you wherever she is now," he murmured softly against her, releasing her from the hug but keeping an arm slung around her, so that they might continue to walk , only closer together.

"Tell me about her?" he asked, after some time in silence had passed, after they had walked further into the Ruins together.

of your feet upon the ground

CHULANE

KIADA

your battleworn tongue doesn't say the truth;

that you are ruined

He never shied away from her, and it was something that she appreciates more and more every day. Every dark part of her was open on a platter for him, and still he wanted to look and be a part of it all. She doesn’t know what she’s done to deserve the attention and affections he gives her, doesn’t know whether she does deserve it at all, but she swallows down all of those thoughts in favor for the idea of saying them aloud and imagining that somewhere, wherever her mother is, might have heard her apology and still smiled down upon her.

As for telling him about her? Well, she isn’t entirely sure where to start. He pulls her into a hug, soothes her worries, and she lingers in his arms, keeping her arm around his middle as soon as he releases them as she brushes her head into his chest and shifts to walk a bit – resting the side of her head against him. “She was always kind of strong, but in a way that you didn’t suspect.” She begins softly, picking through her words. “She seemed soft and kind and gentle – and she was, but… There was this part of her where if you messed with her or what she held dear, she’d fight with everything she had for it.” A soft smile crosses her face with that. She’d noticed that here too – going so far as Ascending in order to avoid being a pawn in someone’s game.

and you wonder why he lets you,

the butcher

touch him

the sun

May your past be the sound

They were a pair, both baffled by their insecure thoughts that plagued them, both wondering at how they had come to deserve the other, both too scared to question it directly lest they reveal that neither of them are in fact worthy. But the love he felt for her wasn't something she even had to earn - his affection had no cost associated with it, no caveat, no conditions for her meet. It was freely given, and he had a lot of it to give.

There is a warmth, a sort of accomplished contentedness that blooms within him, when he feels the gentle pressure of her head against his chest. The way her arms linger about his middle even as his forms a sort of protective cocoon over her bring him comfort even as he provides it to her - they stabilise each other, without directly realising it.

The funeral had been decorated with portraits upon portraits of the woman, and in every one he had also seen her, Kiada, the daughter from another world. Though the logic of the whole alternate universes might go over Chuy's head, he could not deny that the woman was certainly Kia's mother, and that Kia herself exuded many of her traits, physically and in other ways too. A matching smile softened his expression as he looked down to her, letting a mellow little laugh rumble through him at her words.

"Pretty sure she passed most of those traits onto you," he gaze a gentle squeeze of his hands, reflecting on when Kia had quite recently demonstrated her tenacity for fighting for what she cared for. A few more quiet strides, a handful more moments of introversion, before he spoke again, to bring her back to him, here, in the present. "How did she come to be Queen here?"

of your feet upon the ground

CHULANE

KIADA

your battleworn tongue doesn't say the truth;

that you are ruined

He’s her protective boon, a barrier of sorts when she can’t handle her emotions, when she doesn’t know where to start. She was all fire and stone, strength and fury, protective at the core of her heart for those around her… Yet when it came to herself, she was always at a loss. Chulane, however, has managed to chip at her beneath the mask, beneath the surface. At first it had terrified her, but now it comes so naturally as she sinks into his arms and his chest, as she looks up to him with a soft smile through her sorrow.

The comment of those traits being passed down to her spark another set of tightness to her throat, a sharp swallow as tears try to fight to the surface of her eyes again. But she swallows them down with a nod, burying her face into his chest again, arms tightening around him as if he might never leave. “The people of the Grounds voted for her when the last queen stepped down.” She says quietly, muffled, but knowing he’d hear her.

“She wasn’t expecting it.. She was still blind at the time and hadn’t put her name in.” And Kiada remembers her indifference, her bitterness. But she pushes those aside as well, because her mother had been happy to help, to fix their home. And that was what made the difference between Helovia and here.

and you wonder why he lets you,

the butcher

touch him

the sun

May your past be the sound

They walked slowly, neither of them really navigating a specific path, just wandering through the ruins, together. He watches as she swallows another wave of sorrow, blinking back and hiding her face against him as tears threaten, and he holds her close, welcomes her, lets whatever tears might leak out dampen the front of his shirt.

And she speaks of her mother again, of how she was elected to be Queen (a notion far different to the royalty from his home, but that was neither here nor there), of how she accepted the role even if she wasn't expecting it. She had been well loved, he surmised, and so wanted to say it, but held his tongue, thinking that the words would only cause more heartache for Kia at this moment. Gently he directed their path to a large piece of stony rubble, a place where they could sit, where he could draw her up onto his lap and just hold her in silence for a time.

Grief sucked. He had been fortunate in his life, his parents always present, his extended family still relatively young and healthy, his friends similarly blessed. No great tragedies, no disasters tearing them apart. Then he had been torn from that world, and grieving for it ever since, but it was a different sort of grief, for while that world was lost to him, it wasn't necessarily lost altogether (and he had thought about whether there was a difference between the two endlessly).

Then Weaver had died, and while she hadn't been a close friend, she had been a part of his new normal, and it had affected him deeply (though admittedly, still not as deep as some). He daren't think about what he would go through should he lose Kia - he would get lost in the what-ifs and never find his way out again. "Hey," he said with a gentle stroke along her arm. "Let me feel you. Use the bond. Let me hold you," he whispered as he hugged her, prepared as best he could be for what he was asking of her to do to him, that he sought to do to help her, to lighten her load, that she might find happiness again, one day.

of your feet upon the ground

CHULANE

KIADA

your battleworn tongue doesn't say the truth;

that you are ruined

She wants to hide it, so badly, so desperately to swallow it down until it disappears and never sees the light of day again. But she can’t, not with the way she’s focused entirely on the conversation at hand, how it brings up thoughts and memories and hurt and pain and emptiness yawning within her. She tries to hide away in his chest, unsuccessfully so, only pulling away when he does, when he directs their path and she draws quiet, trying to keep her voice from shaking as she tries to focus on anything else.

But they find a place to sit and she stands before him when he takes a seat, when his voice captures her attention and her glassy gaze focuses on him as she chews on the inside of her cheek. The soft touch to her arm, the asking to feel the emotions, and she doesn’t know if he should – if it’s a good idea, if it wouldn’t start to break him too.

She gives in, however, after a moment of pause. Because he’s asked, because he wants to, and she doesn’t know what else to say. So she climbs into his lap, peeling away that blockade between the bond with her and him, trying to let it pour in slowly but she falters when it starts to go – all those feelings swirling and hitting the bond like a flood – grief, sorrow, emptiness, familiarity, to name a few.

It’s a cold and empty feeling, despite the edge of her that knows he’s there for her, that his love is warm to her iceberg cold, but the pain of it all seems to drown it out and leaves her numb.

and you wonder why he lets you,

the butcher

touch him

the sun

May your past be the sound

He asks a lot of her, he knows. Things that he himself was uncomfortable doing still, even with her - being open, using the ability gifted to them in such a way that linked them, that bonded them through their emotions of all things. He wished he could share in return without being shifted, could offer his own reflection and support in that way - alas, he would do what he could to hear her, to feel her, to hold her up when all she wanted to do was crumble down.

He didn't know if it was a good idea, or a disastrous one. What if he let himself be pulled under, drowned beneath the depth of her grief, her sorrow? What if he wasn't strong enough to bear it, to support her through it, to get them both through this?

He'd find out soon enough.

Arms embrace her automatically as she comes to him, her moment of hesitation feeling like a yawning age as he wonders if he'd asked too much of her, pushed the familiarity of their relationship to the brink already - but she comes to him, and he welcomes her, all of her.

It comes through as a trickle at first, a hint at what lie beneath the barrier she had built, the wall holding back the tide of raw and rough emotions. He braces on instinct for what he suspects is about to come, hot tears burning at the back of his eyelids as he shuts them and leans his forehead against her, feeling the wave, nay, the tsunami wash through him, threatening to drown him, to pull him under. First instincts scream at him to flinch, to want to pull away from her, to want to run and hide from such dark and dreadful sensations; but he ignores them, clinging to her all the more instead, his breath hitching as he works hard to maintain his breathing, to stay here, with her, in the present.

"I'm here," words came out between breaths, time an unknown entity now. Hours could have passed as he let himself feel her, as he held her in his embrace. He didn't know if he was reassuring her or himself; perhaps he was reassuring both of them in this moment of empathic bonds and emotions hitting like hurricanes. "We're here," he said, voice more sure this time, more comforted by the fact that she was here too, with him as much as he was with her.

of your feet upon the ground

CHULANE

KIADA

your battleworn tongue doesn't say the truth;

that you are ruined

It overwhelms, devours, swallows everything whole. But he’d asked for it – she tells herself over and over and over again. He wants to experience it, to find out what it’s like in her heart, why she had been so guarded for so long, kept to herself and kept together with the smallest and barest bits of herself on display. She doesn’t know how long she’s sitting there in his lap, sending her emotions down, expressing them in the tears that stream down her face, in the tremble in her body as she clings to him as if he’s the last thing she has left.

She can tell, too, that he’s processing it, working through it. And she tries to damper it once it’s crested, pulling it back within herself when his words reach her – the breath heaving from his chest as she buries her face into his shoulder, keeping lose and using him as a tether to steady herself within the turbulent waves of her emotions.

Arms move to wrap around his torso, keeping him close as possible. It takes her some time to get the words out, but she manages, swallowing down the tight hoarseness in her throat, as she pulls her face away from his chest – red ringed eyes focusing on him entirely. “We’re here.” She agrees quietly, softly, unsure if he can even hear her, so she sends it again through the bond – along with the sense of an apology.

and you wonder why he lets you,

the butcher

touch him

the sun

May your past be the sound

It was human nature to fight it, to tuck such hard emotions away, to want only to cling to the happy ones, the loving ones, the peaceful ones. But life wasn't fair, life wasn't kind or wholesome - it was brutal, and it took brutality to endure it, to survive it, to ride it out and find more peaceful times once again.

Was he brutal enough, tough enough, to endure such trials? He had no doubt that Kia could, his concern for her only coming from his own insecurities, his own lack of never being tested in this way before - but he wanted to bear the weight of it for her all the same, to help, to prove himself, to know whether he was strong enough, for her, for himself, for all of Caido and its cruel and unjust ways of existing.

He found his breath, he rode the crest of the wave with her, leaning into her just as she might lean into him. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, a closeness not possible before he came here, before he discovered his attunedness, and shared it with her. He hears her, vocally and through the bond both, and in response he tilts his head to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Don't be sorry," soft words murmured, before he amended them. "It's gonna hurt for a while, but there is no need for you to go it alone, not when I'm here." A beat, a moment of silence, and he swallowed. "Thank you, for letting me in," he whispered, wanting her to know how much it meant that she would trust him, how much he hoped he would never betray that trust, how much he wanted to hold her, to strengthen her, to help her through this.

of your feet upon the ground

CHULANE

KIADA

your battleworn tongue doesn't say the truth;

that you are ruined

”Don’t be sorry.” She hears him say, but she’s unable to add her own voice into the mix as she tries to keep the hoarseness away, the tightness of her throat coming in waves and pulsing against a forming headache at the back of her mind from the whirlwind of emotions and exhaustion suddenly from sharing so much with him. And she hears the rest of what he says, her head tilting up to better view his face – dark brows twitching together.

He’s here for her, to hear her emotions, to help her through them, to keep her away from holing herself away in a room locked up tight until she feels like she can face the world again. Someone else to share her burden, who’s willing to, and it kills her internally to realize that she has to be that way.

So her arms lift to wrap around his neck, keeping him close as he thanks her – thanks her for what? – “You’re so strong, Chuy.” She murmurs against his chest when he kisses her forehead. “Thank you.” She offers quietly, a hiccup of breath entering her lungs as she tries to take a deeper breath, squeezing her eyes shut to try and keep the glassiness from her eyes.

and you wonder why he lets you,

the butcher

touch him

the sun