may the bridges i have burned light my way back home

i'll love you till the day i die, even if it's just a bold face hell of a pretty lie

He nods as she echoes his comment of the door, as if trying to urge her into saying she hears it too. But, alas, she doesn’t. He should have expected it, honestly, but it doesn’t stop the thundering heartbeat he can feel pulsing in his neck, the heartbeat he can feel in his fingertips. So he takes a deep breath and tries to block it out, the banging that reminds him of LongNight in this ridiculous place, trying to quell the sudden fears that spring up and rise up within him. He finds himself clutching the blanket tight. “Sounded like someone wanted in.” He offers her quietly, not looking at her.

And the longer time goes on, the more little things here and there begin to warp and shift, the floor becomes marble, the soft voices he heard prior becomes the sound of marching boots. He wishes he were asleep, honestly, as he closes his eyes and his jaw is set tight, trying to block it all out. “Everythings changing.” He tells her through clenched teeth. “The floor is marble.” And it isn’t anywhere he knows just yet, not until the sound of boots grows louder and he can hear his mother’s soft voice drift in from nowhere. “I hear voices.” He relates these to her, as he has with Nate when he’d taken things that could react strangely.

Doesn’t make it easier, however, and he keeps his eyes shut tight.

SUNJATA

Isla take your medicine It doesn't matter how much of an allergy or a reaction Sunjata might have - Isla is reasonably certain that no sedative she has ever come across has this sort of an effect. Psychadelics are a different branch of drug altogether, and alarm bells immediately go off. Later she will thank Sunjata - and Nate, most likely - for whatever makes him relay all of the information to her, and whilst her fingers itch to note down all that he's saying, her now-patient comes first. And so Isla rises to her feet so she might kneel beside the chair where Sunjata is seated, reaching out to take one of his hands between both of her own. She squeezes it, firmly but gently. "You are safe," she tells him slowly; she swears she can hear the thunder of his heart from here. "Whatever happens, however it might feel, it is not dangerous. We are in the infirmary in the Hollowed Grounds. It's just you and I in this room."

i'll love you till the day i die, even if it's just a bold face hell of a pretty lie

His eyes remain shut but he’s acutely aware of her movements, of how she comes closer and takes his hand — one that’s fiery warm and tense as he clutches her hand and keeps his breathing as even as he can. But it doesn’t last long, she tells him he’s safe and that nothing can get to him here and he doesn’t trust it. Because he thought he was safe at home too, and he wasn’t. The broken wing was evident with that fact. So instead, feathers begin to sprinkle down his neck and his shoulders, tucked under clothing and the blanket as he fights to keep from wanting to run as he always had.

The voices grow louder and he finally decides that he might be able to open his eyes to try and get the sounds to drown out, tired steel opening to peer at Isla with dilated pupils before they shoot to look at the marble flooring, the flooring that’s suddenly covered in blood. He takes a sharp breath, lips quivering as he tries to nod to her, tries to trust her, but flinches when he hears another knock at the door louder and louder. “I’m too warm.” He croaks out, clamping his jaw shut again, unable to draw his eyes from the river of blood that comes from the fireplace like a waterfall, spreading outward and outward like veins.

SUNJATA

Isla take your medicine She notes the feathers, the dilation of his pupils, the flutter of his breathing, but of course there is little Isla can do to rush the drug out of his system. She reaches with one hand, though, to pour another glass of water from the jug, keeping her other firmly grasping Sunjata's fingers. When he mentions he's too warm, though, Isla looks and looks again, her pebble blues flashing in the half-light as she engages her optical upgrade. And he is burning up, her brows furrowing together as she notes the fever-heat brought on by the definitely-not-a-sedative. "Yes you are," she agrees, carefully pressing the glass into his hands. "Look at me and take a drink, Sunjata. Talk me through what's happening, but remember it isn't real. It isn't here now - this is all because of the medicine you took. You're not in any danger."

i'll love you till the day i die, even if it's just a bold face hell of a pretty lie

His eyes remained locked on the floor, jaw set tight as she keeps one hand in his and the other moving to fill a glass of water. He’s not sure he could drink and keep it down just yet, and so he tries to focus on what she says instead. That also doesn’t help. He swallows down hard, pulling himself away from the blood that’s a mix of his and Lusea’s, to find her face among the shadowed ghosts of his past. “Its the house I grew up in.” House is a bit of an understatement, but it checks all the marks with as little talk as needed. “The floor is covered in blood.” He puts it as simply as he can.

“It’s Luci’s blood. And mine.” He grows softer here, his free hand reaching halfway for the water before he realizes he should check, his hand moving to the scar on his neck, the feathers departing so he can feel the scar. He still doesn’t believe it through, his hand withdrawing and his eyes shift to look at it. “My hand is covered in blood...” He shakes his hand as if trying to get it off, despite there nothing to be taken off. His brows furrow when he finds it doesn’t work, the panic beginning to set in.

SUNJATA

Isla take your medicine She wraps his fingers gently around the glass of water even as his free hand moves to his neck, Isla giving him a cursory glance over through her upgrade even though she is already well aware of the problem. And she listens as he speaks, as the story comes out in bits and pieces - and whilst it's nowhere near enough for her to pull together a complete picture, it's plenty to realise the state of panic that the hallucination is shoving Sunjata towards. So when his hand comes away (clean, obviously) and he shakes it, Isla is already there on her feet, reaching out to try to guide his gaze up to her own again with a careful hand against his cheek. He's already clammy, and the blanket likely isn't helping, but she doesn't want to disturb him too much for now. "Don't focus on that, okay? Can you tell me more about the house? Was it big? What kind of neighbourhood did you live in?"

i'll love you till the day i die, even if it's just a bold face hell of a pretty lie

She wraps his fingers around the glass but Sunjata’s too focused on the blood on his hand, on the way he can’t get it to come off. His frustration grows further, evident as he continues to try and wipe the blood away over and over again until her cool hand is on his cheek and it surprises him – it shocks him, taking a sharp inhale of breath that has his eyes darting toward her again.

“It’s everywhere.” He tells her, his voice quiet and almost a pained whine. Her question does manage to spark an edge toward something else, away from blood but not quite from pain. The house was too full of pain and quiet and secrets to feel anything like a home, anyway. But he tries, because she’s asked him to, because it’s something else to focus on other than the blood that coats his hands, something to focus on other than the body he thinks he can see in the peripheral of his vision.

He works his jaw a few times until he manages to speak, his heart still thundering beneath her fingers. “It was a mansion.” He says softly, using it as leverage to try and push himself off in a different direction. “We… Didn’t have neighbors.” This thought confuses him for a moment, his tongue darting out along his lower lip to slowly drag as he considers it. So he settles for the typical explanation he gave those around here, in a way that made sense to them and was as close to accurate as Sunjata could do for the complication of politics of Korofi. “My father was like… A king in Korofi. I was supposed to be the next Arbiter. Except, I rebelled.”

SUNJATA

Isla take your medicine "I know it is, but it's not real, remember. You've taken something that's making you see this. You're safe and in my office, okay?" It doesn't matter that she's repeating herself, Isla knowing better than to say something moronic like calm down or it's okay. Her free hand comes to hold the one he's convinced is covered in blood, and in the meantime Sunjata begins to speak. "A mansion?" Isla repeats, smiling softly. "I used to live in a mansion as well. Only for a little while, though, before I had to leave for the front." War did that sort of thing. "No neighbours, though? Not even one?" She probes further hoping to keep him talking about something more mundane than whatever trauma is currently plaguing him. "What does an Arbiter do?" she asks.

i'll love you till the day i die, even if it's just a bold face hell of a pretty lie

He’s taken something. Something that is bringing him back to Korofi, a place where most of his nightmares had begun. Still, he focuses on her, wanting to believe her, not quite finding it in himself to do so just yet. But he forgets about the blood, at least, the hand stopping its attempt to rid itself of the scarlet liquid. Instead, he thinks of mansions, realization dawning over him as she mentions she lived in one too for a time.

As for no neighbors, he shakes his head slowly, drawn to the memory of said mansion. “Father was, no, is paranoid.” He explains, as if that made all the difference. He was sure his father slept with one eye open, bought everyone’s time and cooperation to ensure he didn’t meet an untimely death. But the question of what an Arbiter does has his brows pinching together, not for lack of knowing but for forgetting how they got onto the topic in the first place. “The Arbiter trains the soldiers and police. He is also the judge for crimes committed.” He is the judge, the jury, the executioner.

Suddenly, his hands feel sticky and wet with blood again.

SUNJATA

Isla take your medicine "Your father isn't here," Isla reminds him gently, wanting to help to explore this as much as she wants to keep him grounded, and she taps his hand holding the glass of water, as if to remind him that it exists and that he should stay hydrated. "It doesn't sound like the sort of job you would enjoy. Would you tell me about being Governor?" she asks, unaware of the tumble that his mind has taken once more. But her optical upgrade is still hard at work, noting how he's burning up, how whatever it is that is in his system is doing a number on his body temperature as well as his mental state. "Sunjata - would you tell me again how you came by this medicine of yours?" It's a sudden question, a lapse in her attempt to keep him calm - but Isla has to know.

i'll love you till the day i die, even if it's just a bold face hell of a pretty lie

“He is. He broke my wing.” He protests, albeit weakly, but a protest nonetheless. He’s distracted by the tap of the water glass, at the realization he should drink something — when had he become so parched? So he does, a slow sip here and there, an attempt to drink some water before he inevitably forgets about it again. “I could have. Been really good at it.” He offers her after he decides to cradle the glass close to his chest.

Being Governor was certainly something too, though, not quite to the Arbiter level. He likes it, likes helping people and trying to keep them safe. Only, war sat on the horizon. It loomed in every corner of his mind. “It’s good.” He says simply, not wanting to delve into his bigger fears, of being pinned against Nate in a makeshift version of his Trial. Her interjected question has his head tilting back toward her, scanning her face as he tries to remember. “Vai gave it to me. She gave me… a bit of it and I fell asleep… and when I woke up I grabbed it and took it home.”

SUNJATA

Isla take your medicine "He... broke your wing?" It comes out before Isla has a chance to stop it, and as Sunjata concentrates on his water, she tries to rein herself back in. It wouldn't do to get carried away, to accidentally steer the Flood towards something else that could trigger a reaction. So he drinks and the medic calms herself, listening as he continues to speak. "I'm glad," she says of his enjoyment about being Governor. "For what it is worth, Torchline is beautiful. You're doing a good job." Her hands carefully slip away from him as he explains about the medicine, Isla planning to test it fully once Sunjata is a bit more under control, but for now perhaps there is something else that might help. "Would it be helpful, for you to draw what you see?" she asks, turning to get a blank piece of parchment and the pencil she'd been writing with. "It might get it out of your mind and onto the paper."

i'll love you till the day i die, even if it's just a bold face hell of a pretty lie

“Yes. In the jungle.” His tone is almost matter of fact now that she’s cling to that part, but he sips from the water, sweat beading up along his temples and leaving his hands sticky with it, the feathers that coat his shoulders turn dark with the dampness. Her comment of Torchline and him doing a good job do bring him out of it, a little, the ghost of a smile crossing his face. He is doing a good job. He is.

Her question of drawing piques his interest, his head tilting to the small table as he moves the water glass to sit upon it, to shrug out of the blankets that cover him and harbor in his feverish heat. “I can try.” He says, making room and grabbing an offered paper, grabbing an offered pencil. Sunjata isn’t an artist, not really, most of his attempts have ended up quite abstract appearing. But as it stood, now, he chooses to actually try to lay out the lines and formations of the mansion’s entry way, of the staircase that lead up to both wings of the house and met in the middle, to add in the lines for the marble flooring that’s covered in blood.

Honestly, it looks great to him, probably his best attempt at anything lately. But as he works, Isla will find that it doesn’t at all appear how he thinks it does. The curved lines Sunjata has thought he’d made into the staircase begin to creep toward each other, lines to the stairs not at all even and crashing into each other, and the blood on the marble flooring a bit more akin to squiggles than anything else.

SUNJATA

Isla take your medicine He broke your wing in the jungle. It goes unsaid, Isla focusing instead on the fever heat rolling off him. She takes the blankets as he shrugs out of them, folding them to set them aside, especially as he grabs the paper and pencil. Isla shifts to lean down and sit beside the chair again, watching the lines as they emerge, as they bleed into one another, as they disappear off the page entirely in some cases. "I see," she murmurs, not daring to tell him that it makes absolutely zero sense. "Keep going, okay? I'm going to fetch you something to help you cool down." Rising to her feet, Isla is honestly unsure whether or not it's a good idea to leave the room, even for a minute. But the medicine is having more of an effect on him than even she might have anticipated, and so needs must.