you can run but only so far

My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room

His admission brings her back into the moment, a breath pushing past her lips as her shoulders slump slightly, "I know, Jata. I'm sorry. I just don't want things to get mixed up because of a misunderstanding." She murmurs, pursing her lips before her expression softens again, turning to look at him once more. She's been honest with him about that night, telling him the truth of everything she knew, only keeping her meeting with Hotaru the following morning to herself. It didn't matter for this. Not when the woman hadn't confirmed anything and chose to cut ties with the Madame, leaving her to focus on her life here and move on without her, not giving her another choice in the matter.

"I'd offer to give you something for your throat, but I'm sure Nate is taking care of it." Maeve reaches over slowly, placing her hand on his arm, thumb swiping across the scales there in what is meant to be a comforting gesture before she withdraws. It's not her job to care. It never really was, but she always will despite herself. Since he's been back he's been more closed off than ever. Paranoid, defensive, quick to snap and lash out. It somehow seems even worse when Nate is around and Nate is always around. How much has changed since Nate got back? How much tighter is his hold on Sunjata? It worries her to no end, but she doesn't dare voice it.

Aidon slips from Maeve's side, slinking between the two of them and curiously sniffing at Sunjata, straining his neck to peer up at him with glowing orange eyes. Then in a move that might be considered odd, the dragon places a clawed foot on Sunjata's arm much like his bonded had moments ago, clearly mimicking the attempt at comfort. He trills softly, head cocking to the side as he remains there, not moving besides the gentle puffs of air he releases.

Their gazes meet, seaglass green locking with steel gray, flames dancing in their irises as the light flickers over their skin to cast them in a warm glow. This moment isn't warm. It isn't two friends coming back together after time apart. It's cold, tense, and closed off. Nothing like all the times they shared before. "I am too... Locke cut up his hands pretty badly trying to get inside, but no one inside suffered. The Voice put out the fire."

Maeve

ransom notes keep falling out your mouth, mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs
speak no fear, no i don't believe you. you don't care a bit. you don't care a little bit.

“Noted.” He comments equally quietly. Because he’s done quite a wonderful job of tearing his throat up recently – the ghosting of blood on his tongue is evident with how he suddenly swallows as if it’s there. It isn’t, thankfully, and he’s lucky that he’s gotten his voice back.

So he takes a slow inhale, head tilting toward her as she places her hand on his scaled arm, the pressure and heat of her hand sparking warmth into his scales, and his gaze lifts to meet her face. “He is.” A regimen of tea, of not smoking, of not drinking, of trying to use his voice as little as possible. He’d fucked that last one up recently, but it was understandable given the circumstances. The rest of it, though? That's all him. The closed off quiet pillar of a man - so much of his own father creeping into his mind, drawing his paranoia mixed with the overprotectiveness of the dragon that laid within his skin.

It was a difficult combination, one he's had to navigate incredibly carefully. It's easier to not get trapped up or caught if you didn't speak, he supposes.

Still, he tilts his head away to peer back into the flames, making no move to do anything else – still as a pillar of quiet frustration and rage, on edge as if he’s waiting for the next tragedy to strike. It wouldn’t be far from the truth, honestly, with the track record they have. He’s sunk so deep into his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Aidon’s approach until after the dragon’s clawed foot rests on his arm. His attention snaps to it, shoulders slumping slightly as he reaches up with the hand Aidon doesn’t have trapped by his foot, and moves to scratch at the dragon’s scales under his neck.

If anyone knew where a dragon liked to be scratched, Sunjata does. He is one, after all.

He looks up to meet her gaze then, working his jaw as he remains closed off, incapable of giving himself any leeway to trust anyone anymore. “Did she?” He asks idly, pausing to take a deep breath. “Locke’s okay, right?” He’d liked the man, quite a bit actually, and wouldn’t want anything to have happened permanently to him.

SUNJATA

My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room

Maeve lets him fall into silence, brooding in his thoughts as she tries to find comfort in the fire, drawing her knees up further. It's reassuring to know that at least Nate is managing to take care of him. She might not like the man, but he was a doctor and this was one thing she could trust him to do. She watches idly as Aidon offers comfort to the Flood, trilling quietly before Sunjata is reaching forward to scratch under his neck and chin, causing him to lift his head with a soft rumble.

A small nod of confirmation is given at his question, "Locke said he heard her voice. He busted a window in the back to get inside. Some of my girls were in there recovering from being caught in the Halenani." She explains as to why he was injured in the fist place. Thankfully she was able to patch him up. It wasn't the best and he had scars, but he was alive and that's all that matter. Of course, she doesn't know that Nate has seen her work on Locke's hands, fretting over the other man in a way that he didn't need to. She doesn't know any of it.

"He's okay. I fixed up his hands and they're healing alright. He has some scarring, but it could've been much worse." She murmurs, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, considering if she should tell him of the recent developments or not. If he would care to know. "He attuned. Went to see Frey. The nature side of them. His first shift is a jaguar. They wanted him to have claws." Maeve's lips twitch into a small smile, recalling how happy he'd been, so proud that he'd be able to protect her. It was one of the few good things to happen in the last few days.

Maeve

ransom notes keep falling out your mouth, mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs
speak no fear, no i don't believe you. you don't care a bit. you don't care a little bit.

Nate has saved his life on numerous occasions, honestly. If it weren’t for his lungs getting fucked up in the first place, they’d likely wouldn’t have met. But he’d nearly drowned in that mud monster and the rest from there was rocky until they’d fell together, and after that? Well, they’d had a time of smooth sailing, Sunjata’s waves constantly knocking into the boat until eventually the waves weren’t of their own making.

This most recent wave? Well, it was huge. It was one that neither of them could control, and that’s the part that burns the most. To feel like you’d done everything right only to come home to find it in pure chaos with little to no answers as to the why. It was heartbreaking, in all the ways Sunjata hasn’t felt since everything had happened in Korofi.

He continues to scratch at Aidon’s neck and chin, idly listening to what Maeve has to say, nodding to show that he’s listening to her. He supposes the scarring on Locke’s hands would at least be quite the story – one that’s more heroic than his own, and while he wishes that Locke didn’t have to deal with it in the first place, he is glad that the man’s okay.

Attuning, though, does bring a hum of a sound from him – gaze lifting to meet Maeve’s jade gaze. “I showed him some of mine.” He offers a bit hoarsely. “Showed him the dragon.” His gaze drops back to Aidon before he’s pausing to swallow against the pain in his throat again. “My panther shift’s a leopard.” Which meant that Locke would have the heavier, bulkier shift, one that seemed fitting in a way.

SUNJATA

My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room

Aidon trills and coos, leaning heavily into Sunjata's attentions, eyes drooping as he starts to slump. For once, the dragon is still, keeping himself in place to soak in the attention. The satisfaction that runs along the bond is enough to make Maeve start to melt, the delight settling over her like a weighted blanket, urging her a little close to Sunjata's heat. It likely isn't appropriate or even her place, but she's missed her friend. She's missed their closeness. Maeve hesitates for a moment, but drops her head against his shoulder lightly, letting her eyes close for a few seconds. "Maybe that's what spurred it on. I'm not sure... We've been talking about the war. What it could mean. He wanted to be able to keep us safe."

The confession is quiet, words almost lost in the crackling of the fire and the pounding of the waves against the shore, blanketing them in the familiar sounds of their shared home. Maeve lets her eyes open slowly, drawing in a breath, but she doesn't move besides that. No other part of her touching him besides the outside of her arm and her head on his shoulder, simply resting there, relaxing into the quiet and hopefully bringing him into it with her.

"I'm worried about you, Jata... Are you accepting any help at all? What can I do?" She's not sure if he'll even talk to her, but she has to try. He used to, didn't he? They were close before. Couldn't they still be that close?

Maeve

ransom notes keep falling out your mouth, mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs
speak no fear, no i don't believe you. you don't care a bit. you don't care a little bit.

The dragon slumps with the scratches, completely at ease, and it’s at least one thing Sunjata’s done right so far. In fact, he’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice the way Maeve readjusts, the way she sits directly beside him, rests her head against his shoulder and closes her eyes. Not until she’s already done it and there’s instantly hardened scales along his skin in every space they touch, his hand stilling against the scratches he gives Aidon. And he freezes, trying to focus on what she says of Locke.

But he doesn’t move, and as she hopes to bring him into the quiet stillness of peace around the fire, it does quite the opposite. Alarms blaring in his mind, some that scream in Korofi and others that don’t, and while he’s silent, he grinds his teeth a fraction, trying to prevent them from shifting to sharpened points.

Then she tells him she’s worried about him, wants to know if he’s accepting any help, if she could do anything at all – and the thing is? He doesn’t want any help. Because help meant favors and gods knew he was already drowning in them as is. So he leans away from her, putting a bit of space between them, eyes boring into the fire as if it held any answers.

It doesn’t.

“I’m fine.” He reiterates from the prior conversation, before his head is tilting toward her, scanning her with a calculating and cold gaze. “I don’t want your help, Maeve.” It’s hoarse and his voice threatens to give out on him twice. “What I do want, is a season of quiet…” He trails off, mouthing the words as his voice does fail him with the rush of emotion that he feels bristling inside him like spiked balls of ice. “But it’s not in the cards for me. So.”

SUNJATA

My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room

The scales give it away. So cold despite the heat that pours off of him. She feels him stiffen, can practically hear the way his teeth grind, how his breath becomes shallow in a way that has nothing to do with pleasure or anything good. Her head lifts, expression wounded as he snaps at her, voice still so harsh despite how quiet it is. Maeve doesn't speak for a moment, brows knitting together as she regards him, lips pressing into a thin line before she takes a breath. "I don't understand why you're lying, Jata. Anyone who knows you at all can see that you're not fine. Nothing about you is fine. So stop fucking pretending. Stop pretending to be okay with everything that's happened because nothing is okay." She doesn't care if he gets angry or if he snaps or rages or pushes. She doesn't care because she cares too much about him to just let it go.

"I think we all want a season of quiet. Maybe, just maybe, if you accepted some help then you could have that. You can't be everywhere at once. That isn't how it works and we both know it." She snaps, voice still calm despite the fire burning in her eyes and the irritation swirling in her gut, "But fine. You don't want my help. At least be honest about everything else. Don't fucking lie to me. Not when I know that you aren't okay." Maeve doesn't move from her spot, but she doesn't touch him as she wraps her arms around her knees, staring into the fire and takes a few breaths in an attempt to calm herself.

Maeve

ransom notes keep falling out your mouth, mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs
speak no fear, no i don't believe you. you don't care a bit. you don't care a little bit.

The problem is that Sunjata would love nothing more to go on his rants, to get it all out at once. But his voice won’t let him and she isn’t attuned, and so thr Governor has to sit there and listen for when she stops speaking.

He finds he’s incredibly tired of this ‘every one else knows best’ attitude it’s come around to. “No. Nothing is okay.” He agrees hoarsely, working his jaw as he stares back at the fire, glaring at the logs that burn as if it might jump from them and set him aflame. “I’m fine because I have to be.” It’s another snap, another pause as he feels the burning in his throat. “You want to talk about lying? Why is it that ever since I’ve gotten back it feels like everyone is lying to me?”

Everyone. Every single one of them.

“I have accepted help and you know where it got me? In more shit.” Oh, but it isn’t until she demands that he not lie to her that has his head tilting back toward her, the horns glinting in the light as his teeth take on those sharpened points once more. “Why can’t I lie to you, Maeve? What makes you think that I owe it to you to tell you how I’m feeling?” There’s a raise of his brow, his voice nearly whispering now as it gives out.

Still, he pushes through it, having to restart a few times, while a clawed hand digs into the sand beside him. “I don’t.” She can collapse in on herself all she wants, Sunjata finds he doesn’t very much care about any of it right now.

SUNJATA

My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room

Everything starts to crumble and for a moment she wishes they could go back in time to when he looked at her with a softness in his eyes and a smile on his lips. She isn't his enemy and if he would just stop to think for five seconds that would be clear. Aidon moves from between them to curl protectively around Maeve, an unhappy rumble in his throat as Sunjata bares teeth and snaps, lashing out at her because she's here and it's easy. "Okay. I get that and that's fine too." She huffs, cutting her eyes over at him and not letting his stare intimidate her, refusing to waver in the heat of his gaze.

The question makes her brow arch, a huff of a breath that could be a laugh pushing past her lips as she shakes her head, "Probably because you don't trust anyone right now? Probably because everyone could be an enemy? Probably because you think someone who loved you and lived with you set fire to your town?" She runs a hand through her hair, pressing her lips into a thin line, regarding him with soft eyes despite her irritation and despite his harsh words. "Jata, you're scared. I'd be scared too. Hell, I am scared. Not of the same things, but... I'd imagine that has something to do with why you feel that way." Paranoia, fear, and worry for his daughter's safety was enough to send anyone to that edge.

Maeve doesn't comment on how the help has gotten him into more shit. She'd argue that wasn't exactly the case, but what does she know? It isn't until he fixes her with that stare again, teeth razor sharp and eyes practically black, that she twitches. Her brows pinch together, the faintest hint of hurt coloring her gaze, giving away the sting of his words. "You don't owe me anything. I just thought we were past that point. You didn't lie to me before about how you were feeling. When we were friends. That thing that we still are. I don't expect you to spill your guts to me, Jata. I know it isn't my job to care, but I do because you're my friend."

Her words are just as soft as his though her voice doesn't threaten to give out. Instead it remains steady and even, mixing with the crackling of the fire as she meets his gaze, concern tugging on her features. "And you can hate me for saying it or get mad or whatever, but if you keep pushing people away you're going to end up alone and that's not something any of us should be right now." Sure, he would have Nate and he would have his daughter, but outside of that? If he kept burning bridges, if he kept drowning people, he'd have no one left to bringing him back to shore.

Maeve

ransom notes keep falling out your mouth, mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs
speak no fear, no i don't believe you. you don't care a bit. you don't care a little bit.

He very highly doubts she gets it. But she’s working him up well enough, enough so that he has to fight his shifts before they have a chance to lash out. Her words make him scoff, have him turning his head and rolling his eyes. “You think you know she wouldn’t do it because you’re friends? That she couldn’t spin this tale of how uninvolved she was, how she didn’t know, oh poor little Hotaru?” He grits out, muscles twitching with his own internal restraint. “You don’t know her like I do. If you think she’s incapable of planning something like that, then you’re naive.” It takes a bit but he manages it, tasting iron on his tongue again.

“I’m not scared, Maeve. I’m pissed off.” And the urge to rebel had never grown stronger than it did in this instance, at least not Caido wise. “You’re right though. It isn’t your job to care.” But she continues on and Sunjata’s claws dig deeper into the sand as if it could compare to being an outlet of his anger, his frustration.

He takes a shaky inhale, lowers his horned head to stare everywhere else but her. “Sounds like a fucking paradise if you ask me.” He pauses to spit, a tinge of blood speckling with it but he charges through it regardless. “And you want the fucking truth, Maeve? It’s all bullshit in comparison to this shitty war that’s coming. Whenever it does. And I’ll be alone then, too, when the dust fucking settles.” His gaze snaps back to her face.

“So stop trying to show me that there’s light at the end of the tunnel for me.” He takes a raspy, sharp inhale. “There’s no light. There’s only darkness. Only blood.”

SUNJATA

My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room

"That isn't what I said, Jata. I didn't talk to her about the fire. I didn't even see her. When I met her in Halo we only talked business and about the Halenani. So you're right, I don't know her like you do, but I never presumed to." Maeve replies evenly, not pushing him more than she already has, instead letting him snap and snarl all he wants. It hurts, that he's lashing out at her like this, hurts even more when he doesn't stop. When he keeps digging and digging and digging, making her heart ache as Aidon curls around her protectively, trying to offer any sort of comfort he can.

She stays quiet for some time, letting the heat of his words settle between them, swallowing past the tightness in her throat as she refuses to let his words get to her. He can be mad. It's fine. He's hurt and she's an easy target. He's like a wounded animal, lashing out at anything and everything, even the person trying to help.

Maeve takes a shaky breath, closing her eyes as the sting of tears starts to fade, shaking her head, "That's fine, Jata. Darkness, blood, ash... We're all going to suffer from it. Maybe you'll suffer more because that's just how life works, right? The whole of existence is out for Sunjata Wrenzaok the Flood and governor of Torchline. No one else in this entire fucking world matters beyond him." She laughs, the sound sharp and bitter, reaching up to wipe roughly at her eyes. She doesn't care about the sand that she gets on her skin or the way it scratches at her, serving to irritate her more, unable to find it in her to bother wiping it away.

"You know, I care about you. I really do. I fucking care about you even though it isn't my job to. So go ahead and yell and rage and push me away. It's fine. I'm not going anywhere. Not really. Because I'm your friend and despite what you might think, you need people on your side." Maeve chances a glance at him, knowing that she's not going to find anything there other than his anger, but she'll take it.

Maeve

ransom notes keep falling out your mouth, mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs
speak no fear, no i don't believe you. you don't care a bit. you don't care a little bit.

“You insinuated it.” He says quickly, uncaring if his words overlap over hers. He doesn’t have the power to speak over her with his voice the way it is, not with the blood filling his mouth, but he certainly can try to get his point across. “When you said I don’t trust anyone because I think someone that loved me set fire to my town. You insinuated it.” He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, his breath, a flush of frustration growing over his shoulders and neck.

But then it gets worse and he can’t sit beside her anymore, shifting into a bat to get on the opposite side of the fire, before he shifts back into himself – standing, staring at her, uncaring of the tears that glass her gaze. “How dare you.” He grits out, hands clenching into fists from where he stands. “How dare you tell me that you want me to open up to you and then turn around and complain I’ve made everything about myself. I know it’s not, Maeve.” He knows that, but when it comes to the events that happened lately? Well, that directly does relate to him, and he isn’t about to let her shift his words on him.

“Do you want the truth of it?” Swiping at his mouth, he wipes away a bit of blood that’s started to pool from the corner of his lips, already past inflamed from his argument with Hotaru where he’d just gotten his voice back and here he is doing this again. “The truth is that I never asked for you to care about me. I never asked for your opinions.” His teeth click together, sharpened into points as a surprising huff of laughter leaves him – something so cold and sharp. “I’m a weapon poised to strike at the people on my side.” His arms flare open, wings spreading a bit wider with the motion. “I am a weapon poised to strike down my other half and I can’t do it again. It will destroy me.”

He takes a step back from the fire, trembling. “My father was a cruel bastard of a man, but maybe he was right. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten out of the flood waters that day.”

SUNJATA

My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room

Maeve tucks her chin in towards her chest, taking a breath and hating every second of this, "That wasn't my intention. I didn't think she would do something like this. That much is true. From what you told me and what I understood of her, but you're right. I don't know her like you do and perhaps it is naive of me to think anything else, but it wasn't because she made it seem like that." Even with his frustrations and her own, Maeve doesn't raise her voice. She hasn't this whole time, trying desperately to keep something in check even as it all falls apart, knowing it would be best to walk away and leave him be.

"What happened in Torchline? To the ring and to the society? Yeah, that was an attack against you. Implying that you're the only one who is going to lose things in this war? That your end of it is going to be worse? That isn't fair." It wasn't what she meant when she said it in the first place, but neither of them are thinking clearly at all, it seems. Both of them too caught up in the back and forth to even take a breath to stop. Maeve doesn't meet his gaze and he doesn't look at her either. Neither of them able to handle it. "Everyone will lose in this. What you feel when it happens? That isn't something I'd wish on anyone, but it won't just be you. I know you know that..."

So many of them are going to be pitched against those they hold dear. They're all going to lose. They're all going to fall apart. Maeve knows he's got a bad deal here, but that doesn't change the fact that he won't be the only one.

He stands suddenly and she does too, tears finally slipping down her cheeks and she's helpless to stop them, not caring if he sees her cry. "That's the thing, Jata, you don't get to decide who cares about you! Whether you wanted it or not. Whether you asked for it or not. It's too fucking late." He's so fucking obstinate. So gods damn stubborn. Maeve wishes she could shake sense into him, but she can't. All she can do is talk and make things worse, apparently.

"I wish it wasn't like this. For your sake, I wish you didn't have to go through this. You and Nate deserve to be happy. You deserve quiet and peace and time with your family." She means it too. All of her feelings against Nate aside, Sunjata deserves that in her eyes. He's been through so much. He's still going through it. Maeve let's put a breath, shaky and pained, licking her lips as she takes a moment, "Nothing about your father was right, Sunjata. Not a damn thing he did was right. None of it. I'm sorry... For all of it. For what he did, the war, the fires, this. I really am."

Maeve

ransom notes keep falling out your mouth, mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs
speak no fear, no i don't believe you. you don't care a bit. you don't care a little bit.

Her voice is nearly as quiet as his is, though it’s the intention of it that’s different. She’s quiet and controlled and he’s quiet because the second he isn’t anymore, the more his throat gets torn. But she goes on and it causes him to lash out more, torn between wanting to scream and lash out at the fact that everyone — everyone — kept twisting his words on him, to shutting down just to avoid it in its entirety.

“I never implied that. You asked me to divulge and now you claim I’m making it about myself.” And as for his shit mood? it’s directly responsible for it, for how nobody seemed to just listen, how everyone had an opinion and felt the need to share it, uncaring of the fact that he’s reacting so horribly to it because he can’t trust himself let alone anyone else.

He had spent the better part of a season and a half having visions and losing his memories, that the second someone second guesses his thoughts on the matter, the Flood goes full offense.

“I know it isn’t just me, Maeve.” He tries to urge from his side of the fire, his voice breaking and cracking, more blood pooling from the back of his mouth. She stands and there’s tears that glimmer down her cheeks that reflect the firelight and all he can do is simmer and storm, swell and burn.

But then she’s reminding him that he doesn’t get to choose who cares about him and it grinds and it chafes and he’s feeling like he’s collapsing in on himself again and again. “Then you picked wrong.” He utters, surprisingly quiet, incredibly hoarse, but as honest as he can make it out to be. When would people learn that to side with him, to choose to care about him, would mean they’re betting on the losing horse?

He draws silent after his outburst of his father, a trembling pillar as his wings fold and move to wrap around him, as if he can close himself off from everything and everyone around him. He’s learned a long time ago that he doesn’t get to have nice things, that he doesn’t get what he wants. He should have known better when the first things he got to put in his room were badges of honor to decorate the white walls of his childhood room. He should have known better when those badges were covered in blood he’d spilled.

“Maybe he was.” It’s a weak protest from a voice that’s thick with emotion and pain, head dipping a fraction. “I relate more to him now than I ever have before.” He doesn’t even know nor care if he can be heard over the fire that crackles the logs. He doesn’t know if he wants to be heard.

SUNJATA