don't you shy away

VARUS

The Portal is a whole other world in and of itself. It had taken some time to get used to slipping out of the underside of the Spire, of realizing exactly what it was, letting it unlock his memory of what it had been like before. But he’s sure the Voice has simply managed to perfect her work in all the time since he could recall any of it. And some of his memory? Simply a block. Something he can’t get into.

He hopes it comes with time.

But it’s to the snows that Varus emerges, the vast land of Halo which has only become icier from what he remembers. He still doesn’t feel the chill of it, thankfully, nor does he feel the weight of exhaustion as he takes the trail toward some place vaguely familiar. It’s to Snowcloak he goes, scanning around the small city for anything that might spark more of those memories.

And in truth? He finds nothing, yet again.

So he pauses, by an unfamiliar door, pulling out a book to open with the only hand he has, scanning it for the things he does remember, and glancing up at the names on the underside of the buildings to designate which goes to which.

And again?

Nothing.

stories without a few let downs are boring when told
perfection and poems are a lie when it all unfolds

I could take all that you love
We could get down fading numb

The path to the salon is freshly cleared by way of her and Deimos' efforts, which makes hauling supplies back so much easier. She has been slowly making one of the back rooms a bedroom for herself, though she still spends many nights in Deimos' spare room. But she can't live with waking up in the middle of the night, tears already fresh on her cheeks, trying to choke down her noises lest she wake her best friend with a grief he cannot understand. Empathize with, perhaps, in the same way he has lost Amalia; but he'd never approved of Sunjata or Nate. She is tired, that much is undeniable. Sleeping more during the day - snatches and fitful naps on the massage tables or curled in one of the fireplace chairs - than any long stretch at night. The beds are too cold, too large, even smaller as they are than the one she'd once called theirs in Torchline.

Atlas walks beside her, silent and supportive, carrying the wares in his saddle bags which we wears with no actual saddle overtop it. Despite his ever-growing size, Hotaru does not ride him much; he is her equal, more than just her mount, though it is a familiar argument between the two of them.

They notice their visitor at the same time, Atlas' ears easing backwards into his dark windswept mane and Hotaru's fair brows crinkling. She hadn't had anyone on the books today. She's sure of it. Had even double checked before she'd left for the city. Though Atlas postures at her side, horn gleaming dark, Hotaru shoos him away as soon as she has pulled the bags off his back. Snorting, the unicorn abides, but not without a wary glance towards the stranger. Hotaru does no such thing, coming up with her vixen smile firmly in place. "Hello there, care to come in? I have no clients today if you're looking for services, but I also have tea and a fireplace if you're in need of that instead." Because he certainly looks lost.

Gasoline kiss on my lips
Tell yourself you know it's me

VARUS

The second a sound is heard, he snaps the book shut. A quick glance is given over his shoulder as she arrives in a flurry of vixen smiles and offering warmth and a place to stay for at least a little. It’s a kind gesture, really, but one that he’d get no benefit from. He wouldn’t get any benefits from the warmth of a fireplace, nothing from tea, nothing but idle chatter unless she could help him with that and figuring out what the fuck had all changed.

He supposes that’s if she has any idea herself.

So he flashes her a charming grin, one that’s fanged and bright – matching her vixen smile – because two can absolutely play at that game. A quick glance is given to the door he stands before, realizing it’s a spa of sorts – and he quirks his head back to her with that same grin. “Ah, I’m afraid I don’t get much out of spas these days.” Varus offers with a soft chuckle. “Or tea.” There’s a look of consideration that hits him before it’s gone in an instant.

“I gotta say, though, it’s my first time in Halo in a long fucking time. Don’t suppose you could use that time to help me fill in some blanks?” His head tilts with the offer, lips curling in a feline grin. Worth a shot, anyway.

stories without a few let downs are boring when told
perfection and poems are a lie when it all unfolds

I could take all that you love
We could get down fading numb

Normal as fangs used to be in her life, for a moment she overlooks them in his smirking mouth. When they register all the same, Hotaru huffs a laugh, tucking an errant strand of golden hair back behind her hear from where the wind had tugged it free of her fur-lined hood. It truly is a shame that her spa is useless to the Ascended as a whole, and while it's not in her power to change that it feels like a challenge to undertake all the same. "There can be comfort in old habits," is her rebuttal, though her expression is warm and teasing. Whether the motions of holding and drinking from a cup will bring him any peace is up to him.

Instead of directly answering him, Hotaru shamelessly sidles up to pass by him, the arm of her coat brushing against him as she goes to unlock the door and step halfway inside. Only then throwing back her hood and pulling out her long hair, gesturing him inside with a playful wiggle of her fingers. "Conversation with a handsome, mysterious stranger? What a burden." Stepping all the way inside, she waits for him to cross the threshold before closing the door and divesting her coat to hang on the rack in the entryway. As always, her chest aches as she toes off her shoes, recalling Nate's rules back home - no, not home, not anymore - and she turns away towards the fireplace as if keeping the shoe rack itself out of sight is the key to ignoring her pain.

Even from a distance, her lightning is masterfully controlled enough to light the fire, and with a snap of her fingers to generate the spark of static Hotaru sends an arc of it towards the wood in the basin, setting it ablaze in an instant. So she likes to show off a little, sue her. "Pick a seat," she insists with a catlike smile curling the edges of her wind-reddened lips. "You can start asking your questions while I make some tea." Regardless of whether he wants any himself, Hotaru habitually unwinds with it herself, and if she's going to be doing a lot of talking she'd prefer a little natural lubrication. For her voice, of course.

Gasoline kiss on my lips
Tell yourself you know it's me

VARUS

“That there can be.” Varus offers with a huff of a laugh, but watches her nonetheless, waiting to see if his request is accepted. Despite not getting anything out of tea or warmth from a fireplace, he decides quickly that the idea of it might be worth more credit than he’s giving it. But she’s sliding past him, her arm brushing against his only one, and he regards her curiously as she passes, tucking the book away in his gloved hand as she opens the door and gestures for him to step in.

And after flattery like that? He’d be a fool to not agree to go with her.

He follows her lead, kicking off snowy boots and removing the fur jacket around him to reveal the deep red shirt beneath it, short sleeved where only one arm is still attached. The other sleeve waves a bit uselessly with his movements.

He does as she says, scanning the room out of habit and picking a seat that has a view of the exits, with his back to the wall — every ounce the soldier he was created to be. “Neat trick. Are you Acquired?” He asks, unknowingly dating himself with the term used for Abandoned, but lets it slip regardless as he lets his bright blue gaze land back on her. “Questions… Right. Well,” he pauses to pull the book out, propping it against his thigh as he opens it with his only hand, “I’ve heard a lot has changed up here since I was here last… I guess what’s happened recently in Halo?” A marker to start to see where they’re at.

stories without a few let downs are boring when told
perfection and poems are a lie when it all unfolds