getting under my skin

SUNJATA

the flood

i'll use you as a warning sign
that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind

A trip to the Grounds. He doesn’t remember the last time he was here — before LongNight maybe? It’s been a while, and Sunjata certainly bears far more weight on his shoulders than initially planned. He hasn’t been sleeping well, though between Nate and Vai’s help, he’s managed it. But after helping Hotaru, hearing what occurred, he’s sure Deimos bears a heavy weight of his own too.

He hopes not much has changed in where the Sword lives, Sunjata arriving with Haai on his heels, a pack carried with him clutched in the lightning scarred hand. Gifts for Zuriel for saving his life, a gift for Deimos for putting up with him and perhaps condolences for Kiada’s loss, and also knowing that what occurred with the sea panther was not intentional.

A deep inhale of breath, unmarred hand rising to knock at the door, praying to Safrin that he’d be home.

and i'll use you as a focal point
so i don't lose sight of what i want

death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch

From the back of his house, the Sword could hear the ricochet of movement, the loud reverberation on the threshold – and considered not answering it. Anyone he wanted to see would’ve come barging in (Kiada, Rexanna, Hotaru, Amalia) with no hesitation, but two were gone, one was preparing to be married and likely mourning the same losses, and the other had proclaimed she needed space. It didn’t leave much to his motivations to maneuver from where he stood, putting away tools recently used. If he ceased movement long enough, and pretended not to be home, maybe they’d go away.

Except Zuriel was out in the yard, grazing somewhere, a dead giveaway that he was there.

With a forbearing sigh, a heavy heart, and bone-laden exhaustion wearing down along his spine, the General maneuvered to the aperture, opening it –

To reveal Sunjata.

He really didn’t want to even wonder why the man was here. No patience, no tolerance, everything else gone and sunken in, the nonchalant and apathetic demeanor exuded entirely on his features. His eyes narrowed, perhaps dangerously, and a rumbling tone ensued. “You are the last person I want to see.”

Before he shut the door in the Flood’s face.

DEIMOS

SUNJATA

the flood

i'll use you as a warning sign
that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind

He waits, standing there along the porch with a tremble to the hand that holds the bag of items he’d brought. And when the door finally opens, Sunjata’s head lifts a small amount, gaze scanning Deimos briefly — along the exhaustion that seems to emanate from the other man. His lips part, a sound about to slip from his throat to respond when suddenly the door is shutting in his face.

A deep inhale and he’s focusing on what to do now. So he knocks again, tries the door handle to try and open it, damn all the consequences for doing so. “Deimos, wait. I’m sorry.” He rumbles, hopefully loud enough that it might be heard with the door in the way. “I’m sorry about Kiada.” And he is, so sorry for the loss of the fiery girl. He’d heard from Wessex, from Hotaru. He wants to say he can’t imagine it, but he can. He knows what it’s like to lose those you care about most.

He also knows that while Deimos and him don’t get along, haven’t in a while, Sunjata wants to try. Maybe the lightning hit him a bit harder than even he realizes.

and i'll use you as a focal point
so i don't lose sight of what i want

death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch

The primeval tendencies, to recoil, to contort, to close in on himself, were tempting, enticing; to merely return to where the Reaper resided – cold and aloof, indifferent to anyone because it was so much safer. No pain. No suffering. No attempts at beloved things. Nothing to do but fight and triumph and bleed and perish.

Sunjata didn’t take the hint, and he walled himself up, fingers closing, palms tightening into fists on the other side of the door, struggling to breathe through the perils, the fathoms, the twisting, tightening nooses closing in. Gnarled ropes and twisted thorns, stabbing him into the ribs, into the gut, into his heart a thousand times over. The apology made him want to shatter and bleed out, to be left in his anguish, to decay in his despair. To wither away with the rest of the season. Maybe he’d be the next one in their makeshift family to die for no god damned reason.

“Do not-“ do not say her name he wanted to utter, to echo, because the Flood didn’t deserve to. Didn’t have a clue who she was. Wouldn’t have known the emboldened embers and the audacious cinders. But he ceased and choked it down, suffocating himself over and over and over again so he didn’t break in front of the world. The only thing he could do was echo the reverberations back through the threshold, pierce the rumble through the wooden exterior. “What do you want?”

DEIMOS

SUNJATA

the flood

i'll use you as a warning sign
that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind

Sunjata doesn’t take the hint, doesn’t remain quiet when that threat comes from the other side of the door. He doesn’t know Kiada well, but he does know how many people loved her. He does know how many people she’d influenced. He was one of them, inadvertently, through Melita and through Hotaru — two sides of the Harpy that Sunjata in his own quiet picture of the girl understood.

What does he want, though? “I brought some things. A ‘thanks for saving my life’.” He steps back from the door slightly, gaze drifting out to the grasses where Zuriel was seen. Treats for her, among other things. “I also have news of the threat against the Ascended.” The hand holding the bag trembles again despite his attempt to still it, steel gaze sliding back toward the door in front of him, hoping it might be enough.

and i'll use you as a focal point
so i don't lose sight of what i want

death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch

It wouldn’t take much more for him to sink to the floor in silence. To stare at the walls. To wonder where the hell he’d gone wrong, which angles he should have persisted within, pursued. He was tempted to lean his head against the interior and bash his skull off of it, to rid himself of the incoming torment, to be something other than some looming vessel, caught out in the middle of the surf. Maybe he should just let the current take him, straight out into the fathoms.

Sunjata didn’t leave, and it mustered another sigh. The gratitude extended must’ve been for Zuriel, and the Sword was tempted to simply tell the Flood to leave again; the unicorn would be quite capable of finding any treats laid out for her.

But the other subject grated along his spine, caused a clench to his jaw, and one more sigh for the effort of opening the door again. “I do too.” He emerged, aligned for the duty at hand, for the convictions kept – shutting the door behind him, and walking towards the mare grazing out in the field, presuming Sunjata would follow.

DEIMOS

SUNJATA

the flood

i'll use you as a warning sign
that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind

It’s a dance between wills at this point, and Sunjata sucks in a sharp breath while Deimos sighs on the other side of the door – trying to offer anything that might make the visit worth while for Deimos despite just condolences and gifts. He doesn’t expect Deimos to open the door – instead, based off everything – expects the man to not even listen, though he hopes he does.

So when the door opens, there’s a flicker of surprise that dances along Sunjata’s face, before he recovers and steps aside, bag held in a trembling and twitching hand. He makes room for Deimos to lead the way, following the General to the unicorn in the field. Now, he doesn’t know what unicorns eat, but he’s gained something of an idea based off of what he knows of Atlas, Hotaru’s unicorn.

And when they begin to near the unicorn, only then does he open the bag and pull out a few sweet apples he’d snatched up – approaching Zuriel with the bright red fruit outstretched in a hand for her. “Torchline will be doing whatever they can to keep the Ascended there safe. But it sounds like Amalia told Remi she’s pretty sure she knows who’s done the attacks.” His gaze drops to his hand where the apple sits. “She has not named them.”

and i'll use you as a focal point
so i don't lose sight of what i want

death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch

Zuriel had been born with pride and nobility chiseled in her blood, and a deep, deep essence of knowing she was far better than everyone else. So she raised her head as Sunjata came near, only giving the Sword a single look (a warning or presence of mind – he was too tired to read it properly), before the condescending air shifted to the Flood.

Loyalty, unfortunately, was gone in the blink of an eye as she snatched an apple from an outstretched hand.

While Deimos fought off an eyeroll, he maneuvered along the field, picking up various debris that had managed to claw across in some latest storm – once ignored for a honeymoon, a vacation, that hadn’t gone in any planned direction. He understood the values of ensuring the Ascended were safe in Torchline, the notions established for the seaside citizens, but it was the latter notations that bristled.

One more secret the Shield had seemingly ceased to mention, something else pressing in the back of his mind. What other involvements were coursing down around them?

Giving naught else away, he picked up a few more twigs and branches, setting them aside, in a pile to dry, fresh kindling for winter. “I have not been told anything.” Not a lie; and if the frustration coiled around the sentiments, then so be it. “But a Fae named Nephele approached me recently. Seemed interested in diminishing the hold the Voice had.” A shrug of his shoulders, because he couldn’t offer much more.

Save for a picture, a face to the title, as the Attuned bond registered and pervaded from within.

DEIMOS

SUNJATA

the flood

i'll use you as a warning sign
that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind

Zuriel snatches the apple quickly, and there’s a ghost of a smile that crosses Sunjata’s face with it — reaching into his bag to grab another to offer once she’s finished with that one. His attention flicked back to Deimos though, as the words leave his lips. There’s surprise that lingers under his skin that Deimos also hasn’t known who had done these attacks, and Sunjata believes him — if only for the pang of frustration that he can feel briefly from the other man, a frustration he knows well enough.

He mulls over the name, head tilting slightly as he considers it, moving to hand Zuriel the next apple and set the bag on the floor if only to keep his hand from trembling too much. “What did she look like?” He asks before he can stop himself, unsure if he would even recognize her if he saw her. She seemed to have hidden herself well enough.

Speaking of hidden, however, Sunjata moves away from where Zuriel is, to trail after Deimos in the field. “Have you heard of an organization called The Order?”

and i'll use you as a focal point
so i don't lose sight of what i want

death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch

The mare was immediately content, ivories snatching once her first apple was completed, cheeks full of the fruit, comfortable and transfixed by the multiple offerings. She continued to gnaw on them even as Sunjata moved on, content with the reward for her dutiful, soothing, mending, healing efforts.

If only Deimos was so easily subdued. He moved along the field so that the weight of the world couldn’t quite catch him, so the earth below wouldn’t devour him, so he could find a balance along the precariousness of the looming void. It pulled and tugged, it scraped and chiseled, it wore and bore a cumbersome, overbearing, overwhelming decree along his spine, until he thought he might fall forward into the ground, and simply not rise. Would that be easier? Would it make everything stop hurting?

Instead, he snagged at branches and boughs, adding to the pile, glancing back towards the Flood at the inquiry. Not apt in descriptions, the beast sent a picture through the Attuned contortions, layers like a tangible image; of crimson hair and Fae wings, of diminutive size but not lacking in boldness or audacity.

The next question put a pause on his melancholy, arching a brow as his arms were loaded with sticks and twigs, carrying them over to the brush nearest his latest woodpile, split and stacked in another moment of frustration. “No.” What else pulsed and maddened now? “What does it entail?”

DEIMOS

SUNJATA

the flood

i'll use you as a warning sign
that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind

The imagery is stored away, something to reflect on later and compare to what Nate had seen, knowing that his fiancé had gotten a slightly better look at her than he had. He continues to idly follow Deimos, trudging through the fields behind him, not grasping at branches to clean up but simply focusing on the information shared. A separate branched sorts. “They’re an organization that comes from the place the Voice originated.” He recollects from Phoebe, fishing in his pocket for the paper he’d scribbled on while with her so he wouldn’t forget.

The lightning still had some side effects he hopes will go away soon.

Scanning the page, he picks up where he left off. “They’re targeting those that are or who they think will become demigods. Ramping up for a war against the Voice, it sounds like.” A brief pause, an inhale of breath as he goes to stuff the paper away again. “I think the Fae attacks are coincidental… But I’m trying to cover all the bases.” A shrug granted, a quiet sigh.

and i'll use you as a focal point
so i don't lose sight of what i want

death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch

“Did they say where that was?” Idle curiosity, when he had no control over the situation, when there was naught more to do than wait, in so many parameters and particulars. Ordinarily, patience wasn’t one of his dilemmas or problems; but something itched and etched in his blood, sketched an outline of uncertainty, sent to splinter into his veins.

More branches, more boughs, more twigs, more rocks and stones to occupy his time, to curb and curve along the restlessness lodged and stored within bones and muscles, a heavy breath, a sullen sigh, when reality began to echo. Become demigods. Hadn’t Amalia mentioned, before and between all the other devastating nuances, that Vi had changed her?

Had she been targeted? Had she been asked? Would she be willing to participate in such a war, when she’d once lectured him on all the battles, all the crusades, all the damned blood he’d shed? When he’d told her she didn’t know what she was talking about?

The Sword swallowed down a wealth of animosity, hostility, and consternation, and while it still stirred against his ribs, he ignored it to savor the information coiling around him. “A war.” Mind muddled, then reeling, back to orchestrations where he’d been strung along battlefields and drums, outcries of pain and agony in the midst of abhorrence and ferocity. “Would the Ascended even have the numbers to withstand a campaign…” A quiet muttering, rhetorical in its reach, perhaps. Wouldn’t it only take a billowing of fire, a conflagration, to render most of them ruined? What was the need, the purpose?

“Understandable, with the timing.” He tossed the branches down into a pile again, then started arranging several to lay out in the sun, to dry out with the coming season. “What will you do with the Fae, if you catch her?”

DEIMOS

SUNJATA

the flood

i'll use you as a warning sign
that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind

“They did not.” He murmurs softly, lips curling in a small amount of anxious distaste. “I met one of them, didn’t seem to be too interested in talking. Much if not all this information is from those that did speak with them.” He refrains from saying Phoebe’s name, unsure if his connection to his ex-wife would tarnish the things she’d said. He believed her, didn’t know or understand why she might lie about it unless it was payback for getting with Nate.

But he inhales a sharp sound, stuffing his trembling hand into his pocket, letting his steel gaze sweep along the field. “I doubt it.” And therein lied his worries, his fear. “I am worried that there will come a time where sides must be picked. I’m not sure where that will leave me.” In ruins if he doesn’t pick Safrin and chooses Nate over all else?

There’s a slow exhale that slips from him as he continues to follow, mulling over the question. “Personally I would like to kill her. But I think I might let Nate decide what to do with her.” He was the one attacked, after all. He could have become like that unknown Ascended, boxer and butchered, sent off as a warning. The anxiety in his stomach blossoms further.

and i'll use you as a focal point
so i don't lose sight of what i want

death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch

Closed off, furtive, specious, duplicitous things – he shook his head, cracking a few branches over his knee, listening to them split into haggard pieces. Deimos wasn’t certain which side he’d end up on either – truthfully, when his best friend had claimed her liberation, her deliverance, her freedom from the Merciless’s claws at the feet of the Voice, but when there’d been the blight, and series of other circumstances. Perhaps time would spill and spell it out differently in seasons and cycles to follow.

He sighed heavily too, because all they could do was wander listlessly on the sidelines until something happened. At least the Sword wasn’t so profoundly connected in the way the Flood was – Nate on one side, and Safrin on the other. The monolith chose to make no comment in those speculations.

But thereafter, on the options set before Sunjata on jurisdictions of justice, he shrugged. “It feels similar to Roana. She was asked by Ludo to murder an Ascended.” Had this Fae been given the same task? Taken up the mantle, chased down the ramparts left behind? “I imprisoned her, and she somehow escaped.” Memories that didn’t haunt, but marred, bludgeoned, curled over in some irritation. “Only to die during LongNight, and bring monsters in with her.” A working theory on the latter, since that could’ve been any of them, stretching out into the void, intending to combat hell.

Wouldn’t it be a safer bet then, to rid themselves of the Fae? For her not to come back, and strive again?

“There will be repercussions, regardless.” A billow of echoes, a reverberation of dilemmas and tribulations. Maybe Nate had a clearer notion, a better idea, of how to bring down his own foe.

DEIMOS