little death inside my sides

// so now you've done a little wrong and you need to be forgiven,
by the vicar and the company you keep //

They had no right. And yet they’d done it anyway. It still doesn’t stop Sunjata from the twitch in his jaw, the pang of his heart, the way his hand clenches and releases as she tells him she loves him. He supposes it makes sense — while it had been so long for the Flood, it was like nothing had changed with her. So his head dips, the glass held in a free hand that lifts to down more of the burning alcohol, before the glass is set on the table between them.

He doesn’t know what to do, honestly. Between this and the visions of his father, the weight of Torchline and war on his shoulders, he’s exhausted. So, so, so exhausted.

Nate returns, somewhat more put together while Sunjata internally shrinks. And he’s thankful for it, for the weight of Nate at his side, the arm that wraps around him, for the anxiety of what comes next. It doesn’t take long, however, akin to ripping the bandaid off as it were, before she’s sliding the folded up paper along the table and Sunjata debates taking it or not. Eventually, he acquiesces, reaching forward, lightning scarred fingers meeting hers at the paper before his dark steel gaze lifts to meet her pale ones. There’s understanding there, and he’s sure that he’ll show it to Nate eventually, but for now at least with her present, it’s his.

It seems strange to receive it from the horse's mouth, so to speak, when she’s alive again and sitting before him, as if nothing had changed when everything had. Everything had changed. Life had moved on, he had moved on with the help of the man beside him, his husband, and had learned to deal and cope in the best more productive ways he could.

So he pulls the note back, glancing to Nate next with a slight edge of an awkward smile, shuffling into the seat of the couch just enough that it could only be seen by him, aside from bits and pieces Nate might be able to pick out should he look. He doesn’t know if the Ascended would need to, though, not with the feelings that he hasn’t shut off through the bond, the same that were nearly impossible to quiet.

And so he reads. And reads. And reads. And he reads it over again and again, letting the words filter in, letting his mind focus on how it would have been a ducking balm against his bruised and painful soul had he heard it months ago. But then the anger sets in, that switch, that exhaustion fueling it into frustration that should be obvious to Nate through the bond, that should be obvious to Maea by the way his fingers tighten around the note, how his jaw sets in a tight line.

He’s silent for a good amount of time, trying to shove his thoughts into a way that made sense, into a way that didn’t barb out as sharply as his Korofi tongue wants it to. “This would have helped all those seasons ago.” He begins, his voice a bit more accented, more restraint added in, giving him that tone of nobility again that he hates but can’t shut off. “And I’m glad that you enjoyed our time together.” He cuts himself off rather sharply, taking a quiet and steadying breath as his gaze lifts from the paper to Maea. “But what do I do with it now?”

A pause, an avian tilt of his head, unable to keep the armored plates of his dragon shift from appearing along his arms, covering up Safrin’s tattoos and sea panther lightning scars, on its slow approach up his chest and his neck. “I found it, though. My dream.” Steel slips toward Nate briefly, though the gaze is still narrowed and sharp, regardless of how much he wants to smooth it over. “Our dream.” A brief pause, spending a moment to unclench his jaw and take another steadying breath.

“So how does it work now? Wait for me and we can be together again, just like old times? You didn’t even wait.” He cuts himself off again, his thoughts meshing together, a hand lifting to tear through his hair as he fights the shifts inside him, the dragon that wants to come out. “I need a minute.” It comes out half like a growl, Sunjata standing abruptly, so abruptly that he can’t hold onto the wings that unfurl from his back, pointed and sharp at the top that tuck in neatly behind him as he pulls open a drawer and steals a pack of cigarettes and the matches from within, and stalks out the front door of the Slagveld to light one up.

// this is the sin that i will confess to release myself
from consequence and everyone can tell //

SUNJATA

sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine

A note is written, passed off, Nate silent all the while. A sidelong glance is thrown towards Sunjata as he shifts, the ascended nothing but understanding. The fact that he's even here at all is because he is the now, but that does not give him any right to the then. He'd gotten his last words from Maea, and had no need of Sunjata's as well.

The emotions it gives rise to is something he can't ignore though. Nate tries, as much as he can, to bite back what he's feeling, to offer up a mental hand to hold, as it were. Even if his eyes have once again focused on Maea, they're distant, not really looking at her, not with all the focus he's spending elsewhere. All at once though, it's like a switch is flipped, and all the struggle, the exhaustion, it grows into a rough edge, not quite anger, but not quite not that either. The ascended turns to face Sunjata, trying to catch his eye, to offer a soft quirk of his lips, anything to try and soothe this new emotion.

Nate works his jaw while Sunjata goes back and forth, trying to get everything in his head out into the open. If nothing else, he understands the struggle, the way everything seems like too much, not enough for words. He can't imagine being in the twist of this situation, any more than he already is. Can't imagine trying to deal with it. Sitting face to face with someone who he'd been so close to, back from the dead. Just the thought has some deep part of him quaking, before Nate straightens up, mentally and physically, trying to be as much of a support as he can.

Sunjata standing is a surprise, Nate almost rising to follow, but stopping himself, gaze moving once again to Maea. He licks his lips, then nods, settling comfortably back into his seat. "Take as long as you need Sunny." He calls over his shoulder, leaning forward to grab his own glass and sip at it. Pemota hovers outside the door, ready to offer what comfort she can to the attuned, and to ease Nate's worry.  

It's a fucked up enough situation that Nate stays quiet for a long time, letting the uncharacteristic silence grow between them until he decides fuck it. "So... what are you planning to do now?"

i couldn't get the boy to kill me

but i wore his jacket for the longest time

NATE

Maea

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

It was tempting to watch him as he read. To scan his face for reactions, and puzzle them together with what part he might have reached, what words might elicit a response. Tempting... but Maea restrained the impulse and kept her eyes lowered. Really, it was a relief to simply have handed over the note. A heavy weight lifted from her, and if she still breathed this would have been the time to heave a great sigh of relief. As it was, all she could do now was to close her eyes for a moment and feel, revel in the small, fragile glow of peace that settled within.
She looked up when Sunjata spoke up, and followed him with quiet eyes as he paced across the floor. Back and forth. She had no answers to his questions though, and said nothing even though many things crowded on her tongue. Suggestions were pointless. It was all up to him, what to do from here on out, and he ought to know it as well. What she wanted... did it even matter anymore? In this case, she did not think so.

He left, and she did not try to follow. Reaching for the glass that had been placed before her, Maea rolled it between her hands. Her expression was closed and unreadable as she regarded the amber liquid within. Cautiously, she sniffed at it. Took a sip, and grimaced when her suspicions proved correct and all that met her tongue was a sensation of distant moisture. No scent. No taste.

"I don't know," she replied quietly when Nate broke the silence. "I did not have a plan, beyond this." A hand gestured vaguely towards him and the door that Sunjata had disappeared through. "Maybe... You said there is a war brewing. Against The Voice? I don't suppose there are any safe places for Ascended these days then..." At least that did not come as a surprise. It had been brewing ever since the Barrier around the Grounds fell. How strange, to think that she had come back as the very thing she might have stepped up make was against. To say that she was conflicted in her alliances now was putting it mildly.

And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh

// so now you've done a little wrong and you need to be forgiven,
by the vicar and the company you keep //

Frustration bubbles and burns within him, but he makes it outside — into the bustling sounds of Haulani along the alleys and the sunset dipping overhead. There’s too many things for him to focus on right now, so many that he finds himself dragging on the cigarette as each one comes to mind, so much so that the first cigarette feels like it’s gone in an instant. Pemota is a welcome distraction, however, the calming starlight washing over his skin, armor, and wings. Until he can clear his head enough to make a plan.

It isn’t a good plan, but it’s the only one he can stomach right now. He waits until the second cigarette is done, stamping it beneath his boot, his wings tucking in tighter, unable to banish them completely. I’m going home. She and I can talk later but I need a lot more than a minute. I’m sorry. He calls down the bond to Nate, a bit of a bite in his tone that’s completely unintentional, but surely Nate won’t take it personally.

At this point he doesn’t care about his hurt jaw, either, stepping through Haulani until he’s out in the open, shifting into his dragon shift completely and taking to the skies to head home as quickly as possible, hoping to bunker himself within it at least for the next few hours, maybe even a day.

// this is the sin that i will confess to release myself
from consequence and everyone can tell //

SUNJATA

sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine

If Nate noticed the grimace, he doesn’t say anything, his eyes only returning to Maea in fits, unable to actually focus on her for any amount of time. It makes him want to grind his teeth, want to do something implacable just to stop the discomfort. He breaks the silence, and frowns at the answer he gets back, brows knitting together. ”Theres still some places that are as safe as we can make them. Here, for one.” The laugh he forces out is fake and loud, in the top quiet room. It was true though, with the exception of others coming in, of what had happened to his face, the sentiment in Torchline was more welcoming than anywhere else he’d gone. ”Wessex is in charge of the Grounds again too.”

Pemota drifts in through the Slagveld doors on the heels of Sunjata’s silent explanation, a mournful trill leaving her as she does. Nate’s face shifts, hardens for a moment before relaxing again. He doesn’t blame the other man for wanting to escape. Of course sonskyn. I’ll be home soon. Lips twist smoothly into an apologetic smile, Nate managing to look at least a little more sincere. ”Sunny... needs some time.” And Nate can’t blame him for that either. ”He said you can talk later, but he’s not coming back.”

And that leaves him, them, in this strange lurch. ”Well... I’d say you could stay here, but,” Nate casts his gaze upwards, as if he could see through the floors to the topmost one, ”we’re actually full up.” The living space has already been promised to others brought back and left in a lurch, and it’s not up to him to suddenly change that agreement. ”I can walk you to one of the cabanas on the beach though. There’s a few empty right now.” He’s already standing, waiting for Maea to follow him out of the boxing ring of nothing else. Where they go from there they can figure out outside.

Done

i couldn't get the boy to kill me

but i wore his jacket for the longest time

NATE