Hotaru
Maybe she'll visit her shop to find one of those old dusty pieces still sitting around. Give it to him to prove just how durable fire-tested glass can be. She can almost scent the disbelief on him, the downtrodden refusal that holds his tongue from refuting her. It's okay - regardless of what he believes, they're both still putting one foot in front of the other, and in doing so he's proving her right. And Hotaru is always right, Sunjata, which is why she levels him with a narrow eyed glare over her shoulder at his parting taunt. Flipping him off gracelessly as she winds her way through the patrons to the outside world.
Her shoulders bristle at the memory of the sickness, and how it had been the beginning of the end. "S'mtimes I wish I never came back from that," she admits on a loose-tongued sigh that almost sounds peaceful. Envisioning hers and Atlas' skeleton intertwined somewhere in the Wilds as they always should have been. Ensuring she would never have to experience living so many long days without him. Never returning to fuck up Sunjata and Nate's relationship that they'd built in her absence. Never simply being herself, who withered everything to dust that so much as touched her fingertips. It's not that she wants to die, she argues with herself, but it would have just been so easy to have returned to the earth without even knowing what was happening.
The bump of his hip is rhythmic in its off-set balance, and jolts a little huff from her every time it connects somewhere around her waist with their height difference. Trying to recall where she's staying to give him the answer he needs to direct them. Unbothered as if she'd never said anything at all about the days she'd been lost to sickness. "The Inn. Uhhh, key," she mutters, and pats herself up and down until she finds it tucked into her bra. Brandishing it at him like a knife, somehow aware that she certainly shouldn't be holding onto it.
Her shoulders bristle at the memory of the sickness, and how it had been the beginning of the end. "S'mtimes I wish I never came back from that," she admits on a loose-tongued sigh that almost sounds peaceful. Envisioning hers and Atlas' skeleton intertwined somewhere in the Wilds as they always should have been. Ensuring she would never have to experience living so many long days without him. Never returning to fuck up Sunjata and Nate's relationship that they'd built in her absence. Never simply being herself, who withered everything to dust that so much as touched her fingertips. It's not that she wants to die, she argues with herself, but it would have just been so easy to have returned to the earth without even knowing what was happening.
The bump of his hip is rhythmic in its off-set balance, and jolts a little huff from her every time it connects somewhere around her waist with their height difference. Trying to recall where she's staying to give him the answer he needs to direct them. Unbothered as if she'd never said anything at all about the days she'd been lost to sickness. "The Inn. Uhhh, key," she mutters, and pats herself up and down until she finds it tucked into her bra. Brandishing it at him like a knife, somehow aware that she certainly shouldn't be holding onto it.
But I am just a broken machine
And I do things that I don't really mean
And I do things that I don't really mean
