Just call this what it is

Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away

The hardest part was how she did not get tired. Even though the sun set and rose and set again, her mind remained awake. Sharp and clear, capable of thought no matter how many hours snailed past. Sleep would have been a welcome respite from her own thoughts, though it felt rather wrong to be weary already, after only having returned to life a short while ago. Instead, Maea found herself stuck with memories churning in an endless loop, all while she reached and felt for the things she once used to feel, but that were no longer available to her. Like a missing tooth, or chopped off limb aching with phantom pains.

Torchline did not look the same without the sun. With the sky night-black and star-speckled the whispering waves of the sea sounded lonely and distant. She assumed, as she gradually scaled the cliffs beyond the port city, that the wind had a bit of a bite to it now. It should, with the passing of the seasons into Deepfrost, but she could not feel the cold if it really was there. Nor smell the scent of salt and brine, even as it sprayed onto her skin and coated the lips. What a peculiar existence, this Ascension. Not even the darkness was the same, made brighter by sharpened vision... at least that was enhanced rather than suppressed. Why had The Voice found the other senses to be unimportant? A question she would have to ask, when she could no longer find excuses to put off visiting a shrine.

Pale fingers reached up and grasped the edge of a ledge above her head, and with surprisingly little effort she was able to heave herself up over the edge. Having reached the foot of the lighthouse, the slender young woman settled herself in a cranny between two rocks. Leaning back, she gazed out towards the distant horizon, a somber expression reflecting her inner thoughts.

Coming back... was different from what she had expected. Not that she was quite sure what she had been hoping for - aside from the obvious - but... it was still different.

what's harder, harder to fake? that you want me to stay, or that you want me to stay the same
for you? chained to a lie. who's to blame? let it die. we're the same

Prayer was something Sunjata sought often, more and more as the weeks went on, and yet? Yet he still kept much of it to himself. Not willing to get into too many details of his worries and fears, simply just tucking them away within himself again and again. It’s like that now, buried thoughts swallowed down hard as he drifts from the stairs up above. Nate had bound the broken wing and yet Sunjata hasn’t been able to partially shift it back yet, trying to let it heal enough that he could for the upcoming reception.

And so he drifts, the edges of the wings dragging along the stone stairs until he makes it out into the night, pausing to glance down the path toward home. It appears longer than it is, provided he hasn’t gotten turned around as he has before, and he takes the moment to light a cigarette, letting his wings block the evening wind from affecting the light of the match. And when he withdraws them again, that’s when he notices something (someone) that wasn’t there before.

There’s a strange sort of nostalgia that overcomes him with the sight. How many times had they met under the lighthouse? “Maea.” He murmurs his greeting to her, his tone far more exhausted and less stressed than it had been before — having had time to process it all, to figure things out, and of course to have that horrible meeting with his father that he’s kept quite the hidden secret.

SUNJATA

Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away

Tobacco smoke drifting on a nightly breeze announced his presence as surely as the sound of descending footsteps had. It belonged with him, like the taste of whiskey and seasalt, like the slight rasp in his voice as he said her name. Maea was overome with a sudden sense of loss when that fragile tendril of vapor coiled past her without registering. Was he even really there, if she could not smell him? Was she? It made her feel more a ghost than anything had so far, more than even the faint recollection - fading, almost gone - of maybe actually having been a ghost? Or a sort. Or maybe it had been a dream.

No wonder things did not turn out the way she might have hoped, when she was not who she used to be.

"Hello, Sunjata." Her head turned slowly to face him, a picture of calm for all that it was only a facade. Here, now, without others to intrude it was both easier and harder to look at him properly. It felt good, in a painful, picking at scabs, pressing fingertops into bruises kind of way. Satisfying. Foolish and fun. "Rough night?" He looked good. He looked awful. A beautiful trainwreck.

Same old, same old.

what's harder, harder to fake? that you want me to stay, or that you want me to stay the same
for you? chained to a lie. who's to blame? let it die. we're the same

Everything had changed and yet some things remained the same. He was… Remaining in some ways, growing in others, an endless loop that has him circling in on himself again and again. This time it’s different, however, as her head turns slowly until he’s in her sights and he’s dragging from the cigarette, tucking one wing in tight while the other remains bound and less limp than the other. She’s paler than before, despite Sunjata wondering if it were even possible, but his feet don’t start to take him away from her. Instead he stays planted.

They had a conversation to finish, didn’t they?

“Actually, tonight’s been a pretty good night all things considered.” His tone is almost thoughtful, his steel gaze flickering back up to the lighthouse briefly before they land on her again. His jaw isn’t bruised anymore, thankfully, and the only bits and pieces that aren’t quite right is his one wing, the deep bruise between his shoulder blades. Aside from that? Status quo. “How about yours?” He asks, feeling the awkwardness of the small talk on his tongue, unable to make it sound better, so he takes another drag off the cigarette hoping it makes all the difference.

SUNJATA

Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away

A brow arched in mild astonishment at the statement. He looked like he hadn't slept properly in weeks, and that wing... a new shift? It was clearly broken. Visible bruises were fading, but how many new ones were hidden beneath the clothes? But it had been a good night. So far.
"I see," she mused. "That's good." Worried, despite telling herself that he could look after himself. He really could. But then, why did she get the impression that too loud a whisper might see him fall to pieces?
"It has been quiet. I don't seem to get tired anymore... it leaves much room for thinking about things." Colorless lips quirked into a dry little smile. Thinking about him, mostly. About them. Past and present, futures that could and might and would never be. Puzzle pieces scattered on the ground. Some broken now, perhaps beyond repair.

"Want to sit for a bit?" She gestured towards the rocks beside her in a casual invitation. While her neck did not exactly strain, it felt uncomfortable to have him hover so far away, like some skittish fawn that might bolt at a sudden move. Her own sense of awkward came and went, elusive, there and gone again as her emotions fluctuated. It vexed Maea; ridiculous that it should be so difficult to talk when they had been so close before.

But then, perhaps that was the reason for all the hesitation, the tentative feeling about. It was so very easy to hurt when you stood skin to skin. The other, and yourself as well.

what's harder, harder to fake? that you want me to stay, or that you want me to stay the same
for you? chained to a lie. who's to blame? let it die. we're the same

Sleep was hard to come by, honestly. Between the whole visions season, he often spent most of the evenings out of his mind in the hopes he might black himself out in order to get some rest. And the medicine hadn’t helped much, though there wasn’t a trace of reason as to why just yet – just sparks of confusion that Sunjata simply assumes is due to his exhaustion, his threat burned on both ends, until there’s nearly nothing left.

But he’s breathing and alive, and at the end of the day that’s all he can ask for.

He drags from the cigarette, gaze washing over her in the moonlight, a nod given to her mention of not getting tired. “Mm, Nate typically goes for walks.” He comments quietly, internally trying to wrack his mind over whether or not the Ascended continued to go for the walks or if he simply busied himself within the larger home they lived in now. He pushes it aside instead, at her offer to sit – eyeing the rocks beside her for perhaps a bit far too long.

And after a few moments of consideration, he steps forward, moving to perch on the rocks, to let his wings settle on the other side of the rocks, trying not to jostle the one too much. He doesn’t know what to say, instead focusing on the grasses that billow through the wind as he pulls the cigarette from his lips, flicking the ash down beneath him into the rogue bit of sand that’s managed to collect up here. And he stares at the ground, the roughness of his boot, letting the quiet night and roaring waves down below fill the silence as he tries to think of what to say, always coming back to the same question. “Why did you decide to go on that ghost whale hunt?” It comes out quietly, his gaze finally lifting to turn his head toward her.

SUNJATA

Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away

It could have been so peaceful. The two of them together finally, gazing at the sea. Maea resisted an impulse to lean against Sunjata like she might have in seasons past, folding her hands in her lap. She had to remember that much time had passed. That things were not as they had been. Silence settled over them, and she let it stretch out unbroken. Savoring the moment. Greedily holding on to the simple pleasure of being next to Sunjata, even though she knew it couldn't last.

He was the one to break the quiet. And the question gave her pause, because it was both easy and difficult to answer. Maea regarded the man beside her for a time, brushing a stray lock of moonbright hair behind an ear.
"You know how I was always sick, as a child?" she began, deciding to give him the extensive answer. He deserved as much. "Stuck in bed for weeks on end, I spent my time dreaming of all the things I wanted to be different. I would be strong and fast, skilled and clever and go on daring adventures beyond the Barrier." An insane dream at the time. No one really believed it would ever break. "Then I grew up. Left those dreams for dead and tried to settle for a more realistic kind of happiness... Until I saw the battle against the Spire Demon. That day I saw real heros fighting the kind of legendary battle I had always thought impossible. I saw someone give up his life to make a dream come true... and be brought back to life by the gods, and given a second chance to live that dream." Maea glanced sideways at Sunjata, unsure if he knew about that story. Had Ronin told him? Had he heard rumors?
"I kept telling you to find a dream for yourself and live it. I guess... that's what I tried to do, too. I did have a dream, albeit vague. And I figured that I should do something for myself, to stop thinking about our problems and do something else. Something a little fun, a little dangerous. Just... jump into it and see how it went. I was stronger, had studied so much and the others who came on that trip were both skilled and capable. I wanted... to prove to myself that I could still do something right. Be useful. Be a 'fucking hero', like the others." Able to land on her feet no matter how many times she tripped. The kind of person who always got back up when kicked to the ground. Of course, Ronin being along har been a particular kind of lure as well. To think, she could go on an adventure with the very person who rekindled that dream of hers!

She gave off a hoarse laugh, ironic and ever so slightly self-depricating. They both knew how that had turned out.

what's harder, harder to fake? that you want me to stay, or that you want me to stay the same
for you? chained to a lie. who's to blame? let it die. we're the same

The question is aired, but the answer leaves much to be desired. But he listens, as he always had, eventually pulling his gaze away from her to look back to the grasses, to look back to the waves that crash on the beach below the lighthouse – to look anywhere but her while she speaks. A nod is given to the mention of her being a sick child, then a sick adult - one of the reasons he’d been able to have Nate use that upgrade of his, to figure out what was the cause of her illness.

He supposes she needn’t worry about illness any longer, with this new body of hers.

The mention of Ronin draws a nod, too – he hadn’t been around for the fall of the Spire Demon. He’d arrived shortly after the barrier had fallen, it was a time that had occurred before his arrival and after Ronin’s resurrection. But he’d heard the stories, he’d heard what had occurred. Ronin was his best friend after all. That was a big thing to miss out on when you got to know someone as closely as the Flood and the Dark Star had gotten.

But the mention of dreams and heroes do cause a grimace to cross his face, to mask it by drawing from the cigarette, to focus on the way the smoke curls about him as the wind ruffles through them and pulls it away, tugs on that bound wing of his. And then she laughs, because it had been all for naut. An attempt to be a hero, falling and falling to greet death on its way up.

“It was more than a little dangerous.” He rumbles, frowning as he flicks more ash from the cigarette and glances over toward her. “I didn’t even know you were still in Torchline. I thought you’d gone back to Halo.” Because that was how it had worked out before – she spent time in Halo and he spent his time here. “And when I found out? And the volcano erupted?” He tears his gaze away from her to peer over the edge of Aumakua off into the jungles, to the volcano that hovers over the distant horizon. “I got really low, really bad. Lashed out at everything and everyone.” A grimace crosses his face, steel gaze snapping back to her pale face. “And some blamed me for it. I sat right here as Jigano cursed me out, shifted into a fucking dragon, and paralyzed me so I couldn’t escape his words.”

SUNJATA

Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away

Maea nodded, the laughter cut short and wry amusement fading into that same somber expression. "Yes, you are right. Of course, in hindsight I realize that. Loren was right too, I should have stayed put, or at least done something a little closer to home. In my state of mind, and considering how green I still was with magic and fights... It was stupid." She shrugged helplessly. It was easy to be wise when it was all said and done. She had been hasty, and reckless. Overconfident and too hellbent on taking care of herself to accept the support of her friends when they offered it. Loren had been there for her. Jigano had too, though apparently he had been more than a little heavy handed in the aftermath. Sunjata's description of the scene made her frown and shake her head, wishing the Lorekeeper were there so she could... do what? Berate him? No good would it do now.
"I'm sorry he did that. It's probably my fault... After our row, I had to talk to someone. I'm afraid he didn't hear the best version of what happened." It did not give him license to treat Sunjata like he had, of course. That sounded nothing like the man she had known, and Maea had to wonder what her death had done to him.

Looking down at her hands, she searched for something to say. Words that might migitate the damage that had been dealt, or at least explain. But none of the things she thought of seemed enough.
"I'm sorry, Sunjata," was all she got out in the end. Soft, quiet words that did nothing to convey the depth of the meaning she wanted to put in them. "For not telling you what I planned to do. For being so reckless. I'm sorry for leaving you alone like that. I didn't mean for any of it to go like that. I -" But her voice broke as emotions overwhelmed her, and Maea broke off. Looked away, out over the sea with a hand covering lips that trembled too much to speak. Could this body cry? She wasn't sure. Did not wish to find out - it felt cheap, somehow. Tears would not solve anything, only buy pity that she did neither want nor deserve.

what's harder, harder to fake? that you want me to stay, or that you want me to stay the same
for you? chained to a lie. who's to blame? let it die. we're the same

He can only nod when she says that he was right, that Loren was right, that she had been too new with her magic and hadn’t learned the boundaries of it all. She’d been inexperienced, going on a trip with heroes aplenty, those born and raised and powerful enough to fight. But she realizes it, now, he doesn’t feel the need to add more to it. “I’m afraid many of your friends didn’t hear the best version of it.” He rumbles, taking a sharper drag off the smoke, wings shifting a bit as he thinks of Amun’s upset, of Loren’s quieter upset, of Jigano’s blatant anger. Weaver had understood, but she was gone now too.

When did it all matter anyway?

Silence overcomes them and he’s fine to leave it that way, stamping out the cigarette beneath a boot, running his free hand over his lightning scarred one as she begins to apologize, apologize, apologize until she cuts herself off. He can hear the tightness of her voice, can hear the way she abruptly stops, and his jaw clenches with it as he peers back over the grasses, refusing to look at her.

“I wanted to protect you. To distance you from myself so that didn’t happen.” He begins, his thumb brushing against his wrist, over scars and tattoos alike. “But it did. And I was alone. Again. Until Nate dragged me back home. And then he was all that I had.” The only thing that mattered. His gaze does dart toward her briefly, before falling away again as he contemplates his next words. “I know we had our argument around him too, but he’s the only one that’s been there for me, consistently. Not upset regardless of what I do. He is my anchor.” He pulls his hands away from each other, moving to rest on the rock.

“I don’t think you could’ve withstood me these last few seasons, anyway. Regardless of how much you love me.” It’s a brutal honesty that he’s had time to think over, to make sense of it all. Even if it isn’t what she wanted to hear.

SUNJATA

Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away

She turned back sharply at that, mouth open and ready to protest. It was being force away from him that had hurt her most! But he pressed on, kept speaking and Maea forced herself to stillness, to listen without interrupting. It wasn't easy. He kept hammering down how she hadn't been there. That's all she heard - you weren't there - like it wasn't partially of his own doing, like he hadn't been the one to call for distance, for the break. Instead, Nate. There to pick up the pieces with no reservations. Hurrah. It made her wonder; were they really that perfect for one another, or was Nate just better at keeping his mouth shut about his boundaries than she had been? And then Sunjata delivered the most pig-brained, self-centered and callous remark she had ever heard come off his lips. The urge to slap him came so quickly that only the hurt cutting through her core made it possible to hold back. But she stiffened visibly, eyes flashing as she half turned to face him fully.

Anger or pain? Anger or pain... let's go with both.

"We will never find out, will we," she said stiffly, so intent on not raising her voice that the tone grew far colder than she meant it. "It seems you blame me for many things. That's fine, I probably earned some of it. But don't forget that I only stepped away from you because you wanted a break. I am sorry that you suffered, that I wasn't there, but don't kid yourself into thinking I left because I could not handle you." She stood up, precariously balanced on the uneven rocks. Her foothold were so much lower than the seat that she ended up almost at eye-height with Sunjata anyway. "You make it sound like my love or lack of it is the only deciding factor here. It's not. I stayed with you because I wanted to, and I went on that stupid expedition because that's what I decided to do. Now I've come back from death for me, because I decided it was what I wished. Not to sweep in and pick up where we left off - it's perfectly clear to me how impossible that would be. The only thing I really wanted from you was to tie off loose ends. And know whether you still want me around or not." She made a frustrated gesture with her arms that nearly had her falling backwards off the ledge. Teetering for a moment, Maea regained balance but had lost momentum with what she was saying. Much too worked up, and afraid that she had just sparked another stupid argument.

what's harder, harder to fake? that you want me to stay, or that you want me to stay the same
for you? chained to a lie. who's to blame? let it die. we're the same

He cuts through it, cuts through to her,  and watches as she stiffens with the glance passed back toward her. And part of him is glad, because that’s really all he’s felt lately too. Angry, pained, ultimately exhausted. Her voice is stiff and cold and he’s almost appreciative of it, almost. “I do.” He rumbles, interjecting before falling silent again. And when she stands, his head lifts a bit, to keep his eye contact with her, waiting until she’s finished in her whirlwind of rampage.

He’s almost glad she’s Ascended now – memories of her anger and frustration, her inability to control her water magic sending sharp ice lances from her like a bomb coming to mind – but his jaw is set, leaning back more fully on the rock to peer at her. And perhaps it hurts her more because it’s so fresh – but Sunjata’s had time to deal with it, figure it out, understand and change. These last few months most of all. “I wanted a break. I didn’t want to you to die or not exist anymore.” He adds on, the clarification of her prior words. Just because it was a break didn’t mean that he never wanted to see her again.

But that was then.

“So. You’ve come back for you, then.” A dark brow raises, a hand rising to rub at the compass tattoo in his neck, mulling over his words, knowing just how worked up she was. The twinkling stars inked into his arms swirl with his thoughts, mimicking the sky above. A shooting star courses through the raised arm. “It sure seemed that way, Maea. That you wanted to pick up where we left off.” He shakes his head, a snort leaving him. “You can stay as a friend, or you can go. Torchline will protect the Ascended as will the Grounds.” He shrugs for a moment, pushing off the rock to peer down at her, waiting to see what she decides.

SUNJATA

Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away

If she was cold, he was a Halo morning. All cutting ice and stark indifference. Maea would have preferred if he responded in kind to her rant... at least then it would feel like she wasn't the only one who still cared about this. Now, Sunjata's calm acted like a bucket of icewater dumped over her head, and left Maea standing there, gaping and lost for words. An ache was building in her chest, a sensation of something beautiful slowly drifting out of reach. Had the believed, after all, that there was a chance? Had the deluded herself?

Or was it just the yearnings of a ghost, stuck in the past and unable to move on.

She met his gaze. The anger faded as quickly as it had flared up, and left only raw emotions plain to see on her face. "No. Yes... I - I don't know. I just.. wanted to see you again." Dragging a hand across her face, Maea looked off into distance. Into a night that seemed too bright to hold all of her regrets.  "Staying... I would like to. I really would. But... I don't think it would be a good idea. It seems I have a bit of moving on to do." A year's worth of it. Would they still be friends in a year? Would all that they were fade into nothing more than a painful memory?

But maybe that's all she was to him now. Something best forgotten.

what's harder, harder to fake? that you want me to stay, or that you want me to stay the same
for you? chained to a lie. who's to blame? let it die. we're the same

He’s tired. More and more with each day. And he doesn’t have the time to sit there and try to calm other’s nerves, to make it easier for them to digest when he could barely do it for himself. His words are harsh, they’re blunt, to the point and Sunjata watches as her face falls – as the anger dissipates to something more full of sorrow and anguish, as she tears her gaze away from his. ”I just… wanted to see you again.” And maybe… Maybe if it were a few months ago he’d be more understanding, he’d be more accommodating.

“You can stay if you like.” He repeats, easily, his accent thicker as he shifts the wings and reaches up to rub at his neck, over the compasses with a quiet sigh. “Look, I’m not trying to be an ass about it.” Muscles feather in his jaw as he shakes his head, a humorless laugh leaving him. “There is so much that happened and I’m still trying to piece everything back together, run this place, and prepare for what’s coming.” His gaze flicks back to her, but not quite at her, instead peering over her shoulder off into the distance where the house they had found once resided.

He takes a deep inhale, exhaling it out slowly. “So it’s your choice. You probably won’t see much of me this season if I have my choice.” Because if he has his choice, he’ll be holed away in his home, in his offices, in places where his father hopefully can’t reach him. Even the broken wing aches with the memory – a thought that flashes across his face briefly with a grimace before he shoves it away and lets his gaze drift toward the coast again.

SUNJATA