I don't even feel

MABEL

Mabel didn’t need the lantern light of the Atheneum’s customary lamps; her eyes adjusted acutely to the darkness, to the evening’s sanction. Her movements were swift, but unsettled, a state of danger and feralness to their predilections, as if she feared getting caught. Why – she couldn’t be quite certain. Maybe she merely wished no one to know of her plans. To be more furtive, to be more secretive, as she angled her way through bookshelf after bookshelf.

She’d learned to read at an early age; despite their poor upbringing, all of the family’s children had received an education from their mother. Literate, capable of reading, writing, and contemplating more scholarly pursuits, the farm had simply been required more of the undertaking. So did a faith she hadn’t believed in. Out of habit, her fingers traced after a particular set of stacks; but pierced away from the shrine for half a moment; time would come for her to speak to the Goddess. Not now though, not while the mission and contemplation had settled into her mind.

Eventually, she came across the weaponry and armaments section, tilting her head to read the titles along the spines. Grabbing hold of a few, not bothered by the heaviness of several, she maneuvered towards a desk and table by the window. And by moonlit glows, she began to lift the edges of the covers, running fingers over the aged pages, absorbing their material.

If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see

SUNJATA

the flood

holding back the flood,

in this skyscraper town

Perhaps in his attempts to find anything that might help the Ascended this coming LongNight, research is the thing that brings him back here to the Atheneum. He doesn’t remember how long it’s been since he’s walked the halls of this place. The last time… If he tries to remember back that far ends up blurry – unsure if it was with Phoebe or whether it had been with Lily. But he pushes it all aside, a pursuit in mind to try and find out anything that could give the Ascended the edge.

It’s different from the places back home and he’s already forgotten where things were here, having to peruse each of the rows in search of what it is he seeks. A few books stand out to him, snatching them from their location to return to the space he’s picked to write out what he finds (he knows he won’t remember them).

As he heads back toward the desks, however, there’s a form that hadn’t been there before. Someone that he hadn’t seen in a very long time. He searches his mind for her name, not wanting to fool himself as he takes his seat a couple desks over in case she doesn’t want to be bothered. But still, Sunjata requires a lantern, and so he snatches one from the desk beside his. “Hey Mabel.” He greets her with a dip of his head, sure that she’d sensed he was here long before he’d realized she was.

you gave all that sweat and blood,

now you think you're gonna drown

MABEL

Her eyes had only briefly gone over the slate of steel, the cutting edges of these throwing knives Aamu had described, striving to memorize the pictures, the images, when another entered. She’d hoped the place would be deserted – giving, granting, her ample time in her sullen attributes to study and peruse without anyone asking why. Without piercing further. Aamu would know. Wessex would know. That was enough.

Perhaps, if she remained very still, cloaked in the bits of shadow, she wouldn’t be seen. The youth could be almost entirely silent when she wished, and poised in rigid complexities –

And too late. Already spotted.

Half a hiss lay embedded behind her teeth, but she couldn’t begrudge the man wandering towards her. “Sunjata,” she offered, a neutral tone, hands ghosting over the tome she’d poured over. Perhaps he knew better than to press too much right now, some inherent ability to understand a surly disposition, and her eyes went down to her designated table and desk as he sauntered a few rows over. A safer expanse. From what couldn’t be quite certain – too many munitions and emotions cluttered her skull now. “What are you looking for here?” Childish, impudent curiosity instigated and riled, and nothing much more, palm stretching over her pages.

If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see

SUNJATA

the flood

holding back the flood,

in this skyscraper town

Truth be told, he wouldn’t be annoyed or offended if she completely ignored him. But she doesn’t – some quiet truce made between them as she remains seated in her desk and he chooses one a distance away, giving the girl space to work without him intruding. He’d grown up being watched at all times, he knew what it was like to be hovered over when you simply wanted to be alone. So he gives her space, unsure if it’s enough, but it will have to do.

Her question drags him out of his flipping through the pages of the books, his steel gaze lifting to peer at her from across the rows before he flips another page in the book. “Weapon options for you all for LongNight. Seeing if there’s anything Torchline might be able to help with that you don’t already have here.” He offers softly, a peace offering. But since she’d asked, he figures it’s only fair that he slips the question back to her.

“What are you looking for?” He asks, pausing before he picks up the pen and the parchment, making a list of common weaponry from the grounds that he can cross reference to those in Torchline.

you gave all that sweat and blood,

now you think you're gonna drown

MABEL

Weapons.

Mabel pretended like she hadn’t been doing the exact same thing, still draped haphazardly over her tome. She couldn’t even explain why now – it would make far more sense in the way he achieved it. Not for revenge. Not for justice. Just so they could all manage to survive this upcoming siege. Her eyes flickered away, jaw clenching, as they drifted down to the words on the page, to the inscription, images, and captions. “Have you found anything?” A quiet murmur, something that barely punctured the shadowy fixtures, or the lantern’s light.

When the inquiry was volleyed back her way, she lied. “About the gods.” And if it was too dark for him to see the pattern work of stilettos, of daggers made to stifle a man for eternity, then everything would be fine. “If the Voice had ever accomplished something like she did…” and he’d know. He was there. She, despite being a phantom, had remembered him and so many others, there to honor their loved ones, in tradition, in nuances, suddenly seeing them returned. “And if she could do it again.”

So, maybe it was only a partial fib.

For – what about Evelyn?

If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see

SUNJATA

the flood

holding back the flood,

in this skyscraper town

The backside of the pen with the feathered end is what Sunjata uses to scan through the page, quickly to not read and absorb every detail. He looks for cue words, marks that might show him what it is he’s seeking without having to comb meticulously through every little detail. He hasn’t found anything yet, something that bothers him deep down as he huffs a quiet sigh and glances back toward Mabel with a slight frown edging on his lips. “Nothing yet.” He informs her, but he continues his scanning as he questions what she’s looking for.

“Oh?” He asks quickly before she elaborates, the feathery end of the quill slowing as it reaches him, some sort of fear deep down in his heart that she may have the ability to do so, and whether or not this time Lusea may show. The string of exes come back to haunt him – selfishly, of course, not thinking of how it may affect Mabel and what it is she seeks (because he doesn’t know about Evelyn, doesn’t know that she’d lost someone so close to her and hopes that she may come back again too). “And what did you find?” He asks her quietly.

“From what I’ve heard, it’s been quite a shock to everyone.” That’s the rumor in Torchline at least.

you gave all that sweat and blood,

now you think you're gonna drown

MABEL

“Nothing yet,” she echoed, as if the reverberations told a different story. That she wouldn’t – he’d likely be far more successful than her false venture, that this had been an unprecedented movement and motion, and to beg for it again was almost a farce. But what would stop her from reclaiming a sister? From relinquishing and releasing all her rage, all her fury? LongNight likely stood in the way – survival a more present issue – but after?

After? What then?

Mabel had no inclination of his own trepidation towards her thoughts and pretenses – wasn’t certain if she’d care anyway. She didn’t have a string of haunting individuals, save for her own family. She hadn’t burned any bridges (yet). Some meetings with others had been indifferent. Some meetings with others had been inspiring. Some were forgotten as she waged across the sea, turning and tumbling over, shifting with and where the current took her.

Her eyes went back to the knives imprinted on the page, and she turned it over, scanning. “I wonder why the Old Gods haven’t done it,” she persisted, edged, quelled around the boundaries instead, pondering, wondering, tracing the potential of disaster and ruin. Of stoking, of instigating, simply because she could.

Not strong enough? Not brave enough? Not brazen enough? Indifferent to their own? The possibilities seemed vast and wide and open to the youth, who'd only bloomed beneath the brightened aspects of her Goddess.

If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see

SUNJATA

the flood

holding back the flood,

in this skyscraper town

She repeats his findings in her own search and all Sunjata can do at first is bob his head in understanding. He finds it hard to imagine the Voice having done it before – sure that they would’ve heard about it from some old tome, some old warning that the dead could rise again. And seeing as there was… Well, nothing, it left little hope to imagine she could do it again. He doesn’t voice these thoughts, however, choosing to let her search on her own without him butting in.

So he focuses on his note taking, listing out some of the weapons he’d more commonly seen in Torchline versus here and tries to go through the books to find something that perhaps could be different enough or perhaps an idea to attach to what the Grounders already had in their arsenal. But as he flips through the pages, he hears her comment, giving him pause as he peers at the page without quite reading it.

“I imagine it has to do with Mort and Ludo.” He offers quietly, a shoulder rising and falling in a quiet shrug. “Just… The way things went. Mortals live and mortals die. Something something about Mort’s experience in perfecting it.” It’s clear he doesn’t believe it completely, lips frowning as he pours back into the book – taking note of a scythe type of weapon.

you gave all that sweat and blood,

now you think you're gonna drown

MABEL

She dipped her head again, absorbing information about daggers and stilettos by advanced sight, no need for the moonlight, no need for the ember’s sway. Her fingers followed inscriptions, marks of etched, serrated blades, pondering how she could acquire some for herself. How satisfying it would be to slip it in between rib cages. To puncture and unravel a heart until it beat its last.

His answer was unimaginative and uninspiring, and she snorted, eyes only glancing back up to him again – feeling a collective urgency, nuance, to seethe and dismiss, to deliberately instigate. A mood, a predilection, an irritation leveled along her shoulder blades and down her spine, running rampant since she’d heard of her sister’s death. Since the verdict had slashed along her mind, lent her away from ghosts, and more to demons. “Maybe it wasn’t perfect, if so many wanted to come back.” Her parents hadn’t returned – worshippers they’d been, kneeling before their shrines for Frey, for Safrn, for Frey, for Vi, for Mort, for Rae – and they still ended up starving to death, wrapped up in sickness and infirmities, not a single herald listening to their pleas for more rain, for better soil, for a successful crop. Her jaw clenched, and she nearly sneered the last words – fangs glistening in the dapple and patches of luminary glows. “What have the Old Gods ever done for you?”

If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see

SUNJATA

the flood

holding back the flood,

in this skyscraper town

Her question has darker undertones that has Sunjata pausing, the quill dipped on the page long enough to leave a black splotch in place of where he had been swiping down notes. When he realizes it, pulls himself out of his stupor, he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek while he sets the quill in the little ink pot on the desk. “I’m not sure most people are ready for death.” He says softly. He certainly isn’t, but the threat of it always loomed. If he had died… He might have come back too. There were times where things just weren’t finished yet.

But of course, he agrees with her sentiment, pausing again to recollect on it when she offers her own question. To his credit, he doesn’t know what anger she harbors for the old gods. If anything, Sunjata holds more fear for the Ascended for the Old Gods rather than anger. But it isn’t his place – caught in the middle as he is, married to an Ascended, devoted to the herald of life.

A sticky space to be in, to be sure.

He idly spins the moon decorated ring along his finger as he considers how to respond. “Safrin attuned me.” He says quietly, flipping a couple of pages in the book he’s looking at before he closes it shut and moves onto the next one. “I have… Done a decent amount for her. She’s rewarded me in turn.” His lips twist slightly as if he doesn’t exactly wish to say more. “I’m marked by her.” In more ways than just the attunement.

The starry tattoos on his arms shift with the thoughts, ever so slightly to match the stars in the sky as he picks up the quill again.

you gave all that sweat and blood,

now you think you're gonna drown

MABEL

She could argue with his statement. She’d seen her parents on their deathbed. She’d seen her siblings coiled and curled amongst their rags. She’d seen worlds fallen apart on illness and pain. Certainly a multitude of fools wandering around this world had asinine intentions, based on how they rampaged straight into danger. But Mabel let that one go with a soft snort, as if she didn’t believe him, an eerie hum collecting under her breath as she turned another page; nearly absent-minded, appearing lost in thought.

But all the while she calculated and sneered inwardly, withholding the roll of her eyes. The youth wasn’t entirely aware of Sunjata’s multitudes of mercurial, back and forth volleys; knew enough that he was married to Nate, and now he’d been Attuned by Safrin.

What a strange, bewildering, perplexing individual. How much longer could he last, straddling both sides?

The reborn infidel almost laughed.

“Rewarded you how?” Promises she couldn’t keep? Further influence? Twisting him around her finger? There was some level of curiosity in his marks - if that was the way Safrin manipulated, contorted, aimed to control and devise. Mabel had no need of the bright, glistening stars. The darkness was enough for her. But her eyes went to them anyway, a subtle lift to her brow, wondering how many sacrifices and deeds the herald had acquired, how many she ever lofted in return. If this one before her was just a pawn too.

If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see

SUNJATA

the flood

holding back the flood,

in this skyscraper town

The snort isn’t lost on him, but he doesn’t respond to it. He doesn’t need to – having nothing else to say. He’s simply offering her the information and answers to what he knows, what she seeks. Aside from that? She could think whatever she wanted. But he does listen to her question as he scribbles down a few more notes, flipping another few pages until he ends on some larger weapon structures, mulling over her question again and again.

“Weapons and shifts.” He simply associates all his shifts to being gifted by Safrin, but the bat and the macaw specifically held closer ties to the goddess – rewards for heartache and results, something of which he still wasn’t accustomed to. So he scratches down a few more things, muscles feathering in his jaw before his gaze lifts toward her again – fleetingly, briefly. “She’s healed me multiple times.” From the sickness of the mud monster, from the injuries sustained by wanting to be involved in too many things at once.

But then he can’t help but to ask. “Why do you ask?” What was she thinking? What was she planning?

you gave all that sweat and blood,

now you think you're gonna drown

MABEL

Her fingers dipped and slid lightly over the old, yellowed pages, before turning another, silent as she perused and read. Her attention was half on the tome and half on him, sporting nearly an airy indifference to the latter. In truth, nothing would likely change her mind; not after all her family had gone through. He could have his weapons and shifts and healing – the Voice performed immortality – a way to ensure their souls never had to pierce and leave and worry about rudimentary means and measures of survival again. No longer would she have to stare over crops and worry about rainfall. No longer would she have to plant year after year after year, to watch the soil remain barren. No longer would she have to watch her family slowly wither and die.

Because there were none left.

And he could have his questions too – and the blunt simplicity of it all unfurled from her frame, casual, precise, concise. “Curiosity.” And to wonder what the true nature of the Old Gods were. How they picked over their favored ones.

Disgusting.

How quickly would Safrin just throw him away, if he crossed her? Fickle. Mercurial things.

If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see

SUNJATA

the flood

holding back the flood,

in this skyscraper town

So curiosity was all it is. He doesn’t believe her, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to know the answer. So he scours through the pages, clears his throat and lets the conversation lie where it is. And when he thinks he’s gotten enough information that may help Nate and the rest of them, he gathers his notes and the books, meandering through the rows to put them back.

Before he goes, however, he pops his head around the corner back toward Mabel. “Well, have a good night Mabel.” He offers her quietly, dipping her head to her before slipping through the doors of the Atheneum out into the dark of night again. The trek to the bar shouldn’t be long, and deep down he hopes Nate is awaiting his return.

— FIN <3

you gave all that sweat and blood,

now you think you're gonna drown