[Training] In the dark of the night

M  A   E    A I talked to God to no avail Said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time." A piece of driftwood did not a good weapon make. But it was better than nothing, and Maea did her best to pretend that it was a staff. Unbalanced and unwieldy as it were, she still twirled it between her hands as she strolled down the coastline. Under the light of a full moon, with the long hair left loose and drifting upon a midnight wind, she also pretended that she was not reckless to leave the caves of the Fingers. No one had seen her, no one knew to look for her. She was safe, and there was no reason to deny herself some fresh air. Upon taking the next step, she twisted and turned herself a full circle while spinning the length of wood between her hands. It sung and vibrated between her palms, and she contemplated removing the gloves to improve the contact. But no; there were limits to how bold she would be. The heat damage had left the skin puckered and deformed, and while it was repairing... the process was slow. Just like her movements. Just like every moment spent awake, unable to sleep, unable to shut off reality for even a moment. Suddenly furious, her movements grew sharper. Spinning, twisting, the 'staff' became a blur as she recalled every lesson she'd ever taken and unleased it upon unseen foes. The barrage ended in a resounding crack as wood connected with a rubble of rocks, and wooden shrapnel flew all around when the driftwood came apart in her grip. Seething, Maea was left to stare at the remnants, before opening her hands to let the wood fall to the sand. She wished she was out of breath.

Melita

they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive

Melita didn’t expect to see a ghost.

Perhaps she should’ve though – after everything else from the past few seasons. Instead, she and Fangorn wandered along the light of the full moon, another game of avoidance from relatives and kin. A skip, a frolic, a twirl, unafraid, unbothered, casting her wake of indulgence and treachery with seditious little steps and maneuvers. The weapons on her back, and her emboldened means, her defiant measures, were always at her beck and call. What was there to fear?

She meandered down by the Fingers, not one of her usual haunts, drawn there because she figured no one else would be. But then there was a barrage of noise, a sudden crack, that gave her an untimely pause.

A lift of her head, following, tracking the resounding, echoing, bounding clamor, drawn into its voids like a moth – her eyes narrowed, catching the telltale wisps of familiarity further and further down the coastline’s reaches. Where the water swayed and the woman didn’t. “Maea?” A loosening of breath, of confusion, of a time where the dead had risen again in the hands of the Voice – and the word left her lips before she could ponder if it had been a mistake.

because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life

M  A   E    A I talked to God to no avail Said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time." Merely a ghost, or a vengeful wraith come back to haunt the world? Maybe the wildfire of a girl should start to be afraid. But then again, maybe not. The jerk of Maea's head as she turned to look at her was merely testy, her fury turned inward towards herself. "Melita," she responded, distant and wary. "Fancy seeing you here." Their last meeting had all but faded from her memory. What had it been about again? Some promises of parties, birthdays and setting aside of irrational dislikes, perhaps. It was all irrelevant now... though some small part of her wondered if the girl had actually shown up. Had there been any celebrations for a Flood, back when they both still cared? Leaning down, Maea picked up a rock, rounded by the constant swell of water. Flipping it between her fingers, she wondered if this was coincidence. Certainly the confused tone implied that no news was going around of her presence in Torchline... or in Caido.

Melita

they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive

No; it wasn’t fear. That feeling hadn’t touched her bones or quickened her pulse in some time. Not with all the armaments at her disposal. Not with all the elements fused together, ensconced and brewing in her heart. Not with the temper and fury lingering in her veins. This was some sense of trepidation, a warning etching and sketching its way down her backbone; because something was off. Fangorn pooled his own forewarning in a dangling of his vines, inching closer to some of the rocks lined along the Fingers’ outsets.

But bolder and bolder still, the youth maneuvered forward. Not stretching her lanky limbs in a rushed pace, but cautious, bare feet inclining along the sand, the dunes, the stones, the rubble. The youth’s eyes caught the artifact in Maea’s hand, narrowing her gaze slightly, turning and twisting in the range of moonlight. “What are you doing out here?”

because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life

M  A   E    A I talked to God to no avail Said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time." Good question. Maea weighed the rock in her hand, tossed it in the air once and caught it. She gazed at the full moon, and off to the night-dark sea. Then down at the fractured driftwood by her feet, and the rock it had splintered upon. A dry smile that did not touch her eyes spread across ashen lips. "Playing pretend," came the reply; disinterested, and uninformative. A far cry from the girl who had so willingly shared her heart and grievances on previous occasions. "What about you... taking a stroll?" Once more the stone was lifted into the air, and caught by a gloved hand. That it was too warm for the concealing garb did not phase Maea in the slightest. Glancing off at the wildfire girl, she cocked a brow and lobbed the stone at her, in a high graceful arc. Easy to catch, or duck away from, as it pleased. The stone was nothing remarkable, its color indeterminable; but perhaps it might suit Melita all the same.

Melita

they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive

Playing pretend? Eerie, enigmatic, and completely unlike the Maea she’d known – the ghostly woman with her heart set on a man who glanced in every direction. And then she’d truly become something gone and done in, until now – now Melita really wasn’t certain what this creation was. Someone twisted within her wounds? Someone who meandered and wandered? What was Maea’s purpose? What were her motivations now? Or were these all pretenses too? The honeybee leaned into hers as well, nodding, tilting her head a fraction, either predator inclinations or a study in shifting dynamics. “Yes.” Taking a midnight stroll, avoiding everything else at all costs.

Then the rock flung towards her, and she took on a far more rapacious position; the staff along her back taken within a moment, hand grasping the wooden armament with swift reflexes, and whacking the stone in one arch, in one swing. Within half a breath, it was gone from her person, lilting and arcing through the moonlit sky to land near Maea’s feet again, fractures of patterns and light enclosed over shape and shadow. Completely impulsive and impetuous, she lifted her chin, wondering what the premise had been. “What game is this?” If it was a threat, or merely laden into nothing.

because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life

M  A   E    A I talked to God to no avail Said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time." The woman - not girl anymore - had quick reflexes. Wood connected with stone and the sharp crack still hummed in the air by the time the rock came to rest in the sand. Maea did not flinch, and only raised a brow at Melita. Her pale eyes, drained of all color in the wan light, dropped to regard the projectile, and a hum of what could be construed as amusement escaped her throat. "Game? Beyond the play pretend, you mean? None. I simply thought you might like the stone." A non-committal shrug gave up on the idea, and when she leaned down to collect another object to fiddle with, it was to keep for herself. "I could remind you of the archery practice we never got around to do... but I carry no bow these days." Nor would she keep Melita from her walk, if she preferred to move along. Maea recalled only airs of dislike from past encounters; she was not inclined to win the younger woman's affections, as she once might have. It seemed fairly pointless. Pebbles arced up towards the sky, one turned to three in a juggled dance between clever hands. It did nothing to ease the restlessness of her soul, but her thoughts were kept from wandering... thinking too much might be dangerous right now.

Melita

they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive

She couldn’t help but treat the moment with suspicion. Her eyes narrowed slightly, another harsh intake of air rambling through her lungs, gearing her up for something thereafter. But the shrug, the way the manifestations gleaned – nothing, nothing at all – for a girl who’d always liked colorful stones and rocks, who’d leant them as gifts to gods and those cherished alike. Perhaps it had been innocent. Perhaps not. Melita didn’t know anymore.

And then promises of old – before death, before decay, before resurrections. She swallowed down a hard line forming in her throat, jaw feathering as her teeth gnashed against one another. She could remember a jutted chin and her seditious presence in between hallways, telling Maea her bow wasn’t going to make it; the ocean had drenched the wood, the salt had damaged, the sea had wounded. Only to do it again, later, later, later – and now the wraith was before her again. “Find a good stick and I can make one.” Pliable, bendable, capable of being strung back enough to notch an arrow upon. Rather than juggle pebbles and pretend to be something she wasn’t.

Melita certainly never had.

because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life

M  A   E    A I talked to God to no avail Said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time." Her hands missed a beat; a rock tumbled to the ground, followed by its sibling. At the last second Maea caught the third, and held it as she returned her attention to Melita. For the first time, real emotion flitted across her face. Surprise, at an offer that was altogether unexpected. Lips parted, to offer some excuse - what bow-wood could be found at a beach, anyway? - but she caught herself before they could fall off the tongue. "... alright," she said instead, and it was her turn to be guarded now. Confused, as if this might be some trick, or cruel jest. A quick look around confirmed her initial reservations. All wood upon the beach was old, salt-stained and dried up. But there were shrubs growing further inland, and the pale-haired woman set out to look for something suitable. Silence remained drawn about her like a robe, but it was a live thing now. Full of questions, and quick glances as if she might understand any of this more, just by looking at the red-head. But Maea had never actually known her, and the youthful face was only another riddle to her. "How about this?" she asked eventually, as she began to haul on a branch of some moderately pliable wood. Still green and attached to its roots, it was the best she could find.

Melita

they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive

It could’ve been guilt. It could’ve been the raw, biting memories. It could’ve been anything, given her impetuous designs – but she watched as the moment passed through, as Maea’s features suddenly altered to surprise than another bizarre encounter on her train ride of avoidance. Melita presumed there’d either be a refusal, nothing at all, and they’d part, naught more to it. The acceptance caused the slightest rise of her brow, and then they fell back into place.

Her eyes didn’t leave Maea’s movements as the wraith-like creature maneuvered along the beach, scouring for potential. Melita offered very little in the quick glances, steeling herself, molding and conforming those ember-spun proportions, her teeth gnashing together. Fangorn grumbled low, and the honeybee didn’t know what to say.

When the other woman returned, with some pliable wood, Melita simply nodded. “That could work,” and she set to task, taking the stick and hastening it to something instrumental. Much like in days of the Rift, her hands implemented and shorn, bending, applying pressure to the filaments without breaking them, well-practiced and versed in the art of shifting simplicity into something menacing. It likely wouldn’t last; but in the end, between her proportions, bitterness, and efforts, the bow was designed: modest, in comparison to the one she always utilized. Then she snagged string from her bag, and tied it along, completing it with a strand. “Here.”

In demonstration, she lengthened her form into a shift, drawing her arm across her bracelet, waiting for the bow to spring into her hold. “Draw it back like this,” and she performed the motion with ease, stare narrowing to immediately scrutinize Maea’s abilities.

because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life

M  A   E    A I talked to God to no avail Said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time." It was her turn to watch, while stick transformed into weapon. Maea had no real need of it, to be honest. Whatever uses she might put it to in the past - hunting, defence, reckless adventures - were of no interest or importance anymore. Yet she did not protest the attempt, or the offer, and when Melita's clever hands had finished fashioning the bow, she accepted it with a polite bend of the neck. "I know the basics," she informed the younger woman when Melita seemed intent on starting from the very beginning with this lesson. It had been a while since she last practiced - a lifetime and a death ago - but the way she mimicked the stance corroborated her claim. Shoulders straight, bow-arm slightly bent, she drew the string back as much by straightening her back and pushing as by pulling. It was a full-body motion, somewhat wary as the weapon was both new and unfamiliar. It did not break, however, or do anything untoward. A pale brow did rose upon seeing Melita's own weapon magick into existence. "That is a very nice bow," she said admiringly. "Where did you get it?"

Melita

they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive

The youth managed to not roll her eyes at the insinuation – only stepping back to watch the proceedings, nodding when Maea at least matched the statement. She quietly handed her an arrow, training version, blocked at the end, from her quiver, huffing nothing into the expanse. “Try hitting that rock then,” and she jutted her chin towards a massive boulder near the Fingers’ entrance, flanked and cloaked in darkness. Melita merely did it just to see how Maea used the newfound, fledgling bow, rather than mock or tear her apart for it.

At her admiration though, the fiery honeybee arched a brow. “From the Fae.” A reward for ensuring the demise of the Punking and its unholy blight – so long, long ago it seemed. In response, she took another one of her implemented instruments, placing it along the strand, and unfurling – quick, fast, rapid, attuned to her measures and mannerisms with blunt, keen efficiency, listening to the smack as it bounded and leapt off the stone.

because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life

M  A   E    A I talked to God to no avail Said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time." Was that a challenge? Or merely a request...? Lids narrowed around pale eyes, but a cursory glance did nothing to help her tell the difference. Maea decided it didn't matter, and accepted the arrow without comment. Nocking it, she adjusted her stance and shifted her grip on the bow, while studying the assigned target. Blue moonlight bathed the scene and made it bright as daylight to her eyes. Aiming was easy; ensuring that her body did what the mind wished was not. But she was lucky. Maea drew the string back to the chin and released in a fluid motion, without pausing to think too much. The arrow sung through the air and clipped the top of the rock, knocking off a chip of stone in the process. "Lucky," she noted calmly; with a new bow and after so long without practice, the hit had little to do with reliable skill. Melita's arrow struck home as well, and a slight smile curved the pale lips. Her appreciation for the craftsmanship and the girl's skills was the most genuine expression to touch her features thus far. "Nice. If you're this accurate in the dark, remind me not to piss you off in daytime." Carrying the bow in one hand, Maea went to retrieve both of the arrows. Perhaps the other woman had more of them, but this was good enough. No need to lose more than two in the dark, should a shot go wild.

Melita

they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive

Melita gave nothing away as Maea continued to glance back at her. It was almost like a game – to surprise, to defy, to let the world wonder what she was thinking instead of simply giving or granting it to them. Besides, she truthfully didn’t know where they stood any longer; the honeybee had thought the ghostly woman strange, weak, and bizarre in the first interims – now that she truly was a wraith, some of those opinions hadn’t changed. Just the circumstances surrounding all of them again.

So she simply watched with that same seditious disposition – chin jutted outwards in some manner of unholy defiance against the world – tasked with witnessing Maea’s abilities in between the slivers of moonlight. The arrow, likely because the Ascended could see in the dark, volleyed and rallied quickly, listening as the stone chipped away. The youth gave a modest shrug, which could’ve been approval. It was difficult to tell in her tempestuous airs. “The arrow will follow where you look. Try to aim again.”

At the statement thereafter though, as she grabbed of another from her quiver, she notioned a laugh. Waiting until Maea returned with the others, and out of the line of fire, the honeybee merely arched a brow. “Safer to never piss me off.” No matter what time of day. She grinned, a little malicious, before notching the armament and letting it fly, listening to it soar and snap through the night’s haze, a telltale sound cloistered along the center of the boulder once more.

because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life