(o) you're not the same, you died along the way

SUNJATA

the flood

i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind

Years before, Sunjata had done nearly everything he could to get out of the Grounds. The Oasis, so small in comparison to the ocean he’d loved so deeply, was still a space he considered to be as close to home as he could feasibly get. The Voice had been right, he’d painted a target on his back so easily that he can still feel the paint dripping down his skin if he focused on it too hard. It’s what keeps him here, in the Grounds or the Wilds, away from Torchline in particular.

At least the wind that whistles through the reeds that bring a chill to his exposed skin comforts him, draws him out of his head – out of memories of getting married here once, of those he’d taught to swim, of the shrine nearby here that had simultaneously been the first time he’d met Frey while also being the very same that had gotten him twined around Safrin far too close.

If he thinks about it too hard he can still feel where Frey had burned her out of him.

The wind picks up a piece of paper and he comes back into the moment to reach out to snatch it from the air, placing a rock along the shore atop them to keep it from drifting away from him again – his tired steel gaze looking down to the pieces he’d brought to make a frame. Originally, he wasn’t going to make one, but he isn’t sure he can get the other gift prepared in time for when Nate wakes from his deep slumber.

Maybe it’s a little bit fucked up, but he has brought all these crafting items to craft his husband a lantern, hoping that somewhere within him that he might find it amusing once he wakes.

He begins to work on the frame, a deep dark metal that he warps into a sharp edged frame, partially shifted again to let his dragon wings out as the sun hides behind clouds for the umpteenth time now, blocking the wind from taking anything else from his little crafting spot he might have to try and chase down.

you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end

Maea

Rest against my pillow
like the aging winter sun

She used to come here often in her youth. To play in the water on hot days, to swim with her brother and friends. To visit the nearby shrine and pray to gods that never answered. A lush haven, a paradise of green amidst all the washed out gray, her moments amidst the reeds and lilies had always provided a respite that offered peace of mind and saw her refreshed. Ready to once again brave the stark realities of a life within a cage.

Many years had passed since she last set foot in the grove. Somewhere along the way, her memory of the peace once found in this place had withered and dimmed, overshadowed by other waters and other woods, until she could no longer quite recall what the murky pool tasted like, or how the wind felt when it drew goosebumps on damp skin. It was only impulse that brought her here today. Or some suppressed longing to relive the past, perhaps another step on a path towards letting go, moving on...

It was made laughingly difficult by the figure that shadowed the shoreline, with his over-sized wings and the large shadow he cast through her memories.

She thought to simply leave. But part of her remembered all to clearly a promise to at least not avoid one another, while something else whispered mocking taunts about running away and avoiding the inevitable, until her feet would carry her neither forward nor back. Just frozen in place near the forest edge, hand prone on a tree trunk and a world of hesitation in her eyes. Torn, as she had always been when it came to the Flood. Pulled in, pushed back, left befuddled and confused and always unsure where she would end up. There had been a thrill, once, in allowing herself to be swept away. Now, though... fear of the consequences left a bitter aftertaste on her tongue, that not even Ascended senses was able to entirely remove.

"Why is it, that I always stumble upon you near water, fishboy?" came a quiet remark; not quite question, or entirely something that could - or should - be answered.

Only wake each morning to
remember that you're gone

SUNJATA

the flood

i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind

The frame, pieced together and bent with pieces of thin metal wiring, comes together with a surprising amount of ease. The ridges and bends in it sharp if one isn’t careful, something he intends to cover up with the other bits and pieces he’s brought to help decorate the piece. His wings do well to prevent the wind from billowing it out, at least temporarily so – because there’s a soft voice that colors the air between them, that has those wings flexing and flaring, the top points where the claw juts out glinting against the faded light of the cloud cover as he uses his wings to try and hide the multitude of things that cross his mind.

Eventually, though, they lift again back into the space they had just been, lowered enough for him to shift his attention from the basic frame of the lantern toward Maea – seeing that their agreement is fully understood, that they weren’t going to try and avoid one another if one could help it – not having to step on eggshells in the space they both intended to live for the moment.

“Hmm.” He rumbles, casting a glance in her direction, huffing a quiet, hidden smile on his face that tugs the scar on his face. “Couldn’t tell you.” He opts for jesting, wings flaring slightly as he sets the frame down and leans back on an elbow. “Maybe its in the name?” He suggests, cocking an eyebrow her way but making it welcoming enough for her to come closer should she wish to.

you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end

Maea

Rest against my pillow
like the aging winter sun

"Mh. Maybe." Her mouth twitched, despite herself amused by the non answer. Or perhaps it was simply relief, though exactly what she had been afraid of she couldn't say. For a moment longer she hovered in place, indecisive, but then a gust of wind at her back made up her mind for her, and pushed her a step into the glade. It was all it took; then she came padding on quiet feet, picking her way through tall grass and damp spots until she could seat herself on a mossy boulder. Not exactly far away, but decidedly out of reach of both arms and wings and whatever else he might decide to flail about.

Pale eyes made colorless by the multitude of vibrancy around them searched his face for a moment, then darted off. Took in the craft supplies strewn about, and the half-finished lantern he had set aside.

"Who are you making it for?" she asked, like this sitting together was completely ordinary. Like she had any right to ask, or receive answers.

One might be lulled into believing that she was completely calm and at ease where she sat, cross-legged in the ratty coat and frayed shirt and trousers her brother had yet to separate her from. Only her hands betrayed her, with the slight picking of threads at a hem. Constantly in motion, just like her thoughts behind the mask of serenity.

She had grown accustomed to shielding herself from some people.

Only wake each morning to
remember that you're gone

SUNJATA

the flood

i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind

It’s a strange impasse between them – on one hand, she had died and when she’d returned, things were supposed to go back to normal. For him? He’d found a new normal. Gotten married. Had kids. Nearly died another multitude of times. But even still, the scars sustained from his time with the woman that sits herself on that mossy boulder near enough to him, still cover his lower half of his body. The crescent moon shaped pale skin that breaks up the smooth otherwise sunkissed surface along his legs – legs of which are folded beneath him as he picks at the pokey, sharp frame when her question hits.

He can tell the way she fidgets – having known her well enough up until her rebirth – but he doesn’t think it’s his place to ask. It isn’t his place to check on her anymore. Even if he feels that slight stirring of inclination to. Instead, he sucks in a sharp breath, stares at the little lantern, shakes his head as those draconic horns spiral out from his skull and he lowers his leathery wings to drape across the sand and dirt behind him. “Nate.” He admits, shrugging lightly, working his jaw in a way that has the scar bunching and twisting.

“It’s a bit morbid, probably. I, however, find it amusing. Thought it’d be a good birthday gift.” Considering Leafchange was both of their birthdays and Sunjata, thus far, has celebrated it alone and Nate? Nate wasn’t around to celebrate it anyway. And so what if it's a little bit fucked up - the Flood has come close to death far too many times for the strings in his mind to align just right anymore, anyway.

you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end

Maea

Rest against my pillow
like the aging winter sun

Dipping her head askew in a thoughtful gesture, Maea pursed her lips. Considered, and shrugged with a shoulder. "Why not. For all intents and purposes, he has been dead. That you get him back eventually doesn't change that." She shifted in her seat, pulling the legs up against the chest instead. Defensively, protectively. "I made a lantern for myself. It probably falls into the same category of macabre."

Her eyes flitted towards the horns growing out from his brow, and darted away. Out over the lake, where the wind set the surface into sweeping ripples. The wind had a look of chill to it, or perhaps it was simply the steely color of the water that made her think so. Temperature had become a distant thing to her, unimportant; the coat was too light for the season, really.

"Speaking of Nate..." Her words came slowly, sluggish and reluctant. As though she would much rather swallow them back down. "There is... something I need to tell you. And... you probably won't like it very much."

Growing very still, even her fingers stopped their picking at the hems. Unnatural, breathless in a way that probably was more familiar to the Flood than herself, considering his history of contact with Ascended. She waited, more listening than watching for cues to go on, or leave - perhaps this was not the right moment. Perhaps no moment would ever be right for what she had to confess.

Only wake each morning to
remember that you're gone

SUNJATA

the flood

i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind

The way she says it stirs some discomfort in Sunjata, unsure if she meant to combine the similarities between herself and Nate in that instance. But at least for Sunjata, he knew he was getting Nate back. It was simply a waiting game. It still doesn’t prevent his head from ducking a little, as he reaches for the little pieces of paper to start intertwining around the frame of the lantern, humming a response to her own admission. “Understandable.” She wasn’t the same person these days as far as he could tell. “I still have the lantern I made you.” It’s said a bit offhanded, the Flood twisting the pieces of paper to keep them sitting and give them some amount of texture before he can glue them into place.

His gaze only lifts to scan her again when her next comment comes, something to know about Nate which truthfully intrigues him. What was she to tell him about his husband that he didn’t already know? Hasn’t he been with the Lone Ranger for long enough now to know intimately everything that has happened? He likes to think that the roles are reversed on that, too. That he harbors no secrets from Nate either.

But he’s in a good mood and he sets the lantern down, focusing up toward her pale face, letting his head tilt slightly. “Well you caught me in a rare good mood all things considered, so…” He trails off with a shrug. “What is it?”

you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end

Maea

Rest against my pillow
like the aging winter sun

A lantern for her? It shouldn't surprise her, but it did. Especially that he kept it. It earned Sunjata a long, puzzled look where questions burned - questions she wasn't sure she wanted answered. So she asked nothing. Only nodded, and chewed slowly on the inside of her lip.
"Thank you." For what, though? For sparing her a thought every once in a while? For not hating everything they had once been? Even though her biggest contribution to his life came in the form of scars... at least that was something, right?

It shouldn't taste so bitter, yet it did.

All things considered, it was probably a good thing. Made it easier to go on; embarking on a quest to ruin his day quite thoroughly. Maea averted her eyes, and stared off into the far parts of the glade. Somewhere amidst trees and water and wind-blown leaves lay the end to his goodwill. She could practically guarantee it.

"I don't know if you recall, but back when the Slagveld burned... there was another fire, too. At Nate's hospital? I'm the one who set that fire."

Simple as that, the truth was out. One she had never thought she would ever reveal. And why now? Maea couldn't have told anyone, because she wasn't sure herself. Some personal quest for redemption, perhaps, or just a way of purging her guilty conscience. Maybe, as Wessex had suggested, she actually tried to make amends.

Gods knew, it was not an easy thing, for all that the words dropped light as water drops from her tongue. That was the simple part. The rest... She braced herself for the rest, and waited for Sunjata's response.

Only wake each morning to
remember that you're gone

You hear a scream that seems to stop time and drain the colour out of the world. In the distance you see what appears to be a woman in a wedding dress, but of course…you know that’s not what it is. Lifting her head the banshee seems to lock her eyes on you and unless you back away now, she is likely to pursue you until she is able to choke the life from your body.

---

You’ve encountered a Banshee. This counts as a rare creature encounter for the purposes of levelling, but does not count as a Random Event for levelling or MP. There will be no further admin/re intervention. If you choose to follow this creature, you do so at your own risk, however, just having it in this thread is enough to satisfy your levelling requirements. You may not kill your rare creature without admin permission.

Banshees (rare/mythical): They take the form of a skeletal lady wrapped in rags. Some wander the woodlands, singing a haunting melody. Others sit near streams and weep. Either way, disturbing these creatures will cause them to become very aggressive. They can pursue their prey seemingly without need for rest, and will strangle all those that they catch.

SUNJATA

the flood

i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind

A low hum leaves him in response — or acknowledgement — of her thank you. He’s held onto everyone’s that has come back. Peter’s, Adam’s (though he supposes he should bring out Adam’s once again), Lusea when she was back for that short amount of time, and eventually Maea’s. Still sitting on the shelf alongside the others. A reminder, perhaps, of what they had before disastrous ghost whale hunts and erupting volcanoes had changed everything.

He works on the frame a little bit longer, at least until her words reach him and his gaze flickers up again — confusion and admittedly a bit of hurt springing to the surface with the recollection.

Of course he remembers the fires.

It was the fires that caused him to lose the land he loved so deeply. It was the fires that sent him into territory of ferality, of losing his mind, of realizing it was better to be alone in the wilds than in the eye of others.

Of course he remembers.

But her admission is one that stills him just as much as she is, wings drooped, brows pinched ever so slightly, letting it roll over him as he pieces the events back together. “Why?” He begins, sucking in a deep breath to continue and steady himself. She’s right, he doesn’t like what she has to say. But he doesn’t get a chance to continue it immediately when the scream occurs.

He flinches. A rare sight, the Flood hardly one to flinch at much these days. But she’s caught him in a vulnerable moment, the admission tacking onto it with more weight, a singular focus on that rather than his surroundings. The banshee he can see in the distance, beckoning them both to follow, but Sunjata stays rooted, wings drawing up and enclosing himself a small amount. He finds it better to ignore the Banshee. “What made you think setting fire to a hospital would be a good idea?”

you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end

Maea

Rest against my pillow
like the aging winter sun

The stillness of him was new. Somewhere in her mind she had expected some great outburst, perhaps a hand at her throat or some other grand display of pain and dismay. Perhaps that's just what she wanted to see. Instead, there was only that resounding question, the drooping wings and -

- a scream that curdled the insides. Maea's head shot up and she turned even paler than normal at the sight of the ghostly woman in the distance. For an instant her gaze locked with the creature; then she hastily looked away and slipped down from the rock to crouch behind it. Attempting to put physical barriers between herself and the banshee, to hide and pray the creature away.

It took a long time before she registered Sunjata's question, and even longer before she found her own voice and was able to answer.
"I wanted to hurt you," came the weak response, and it was hard to tell if it was the banshee's scream or the topic that made her voice shake sightly. "I came back for you, gave up everything I believed in to be with you... and you shrugged me off like a bad memory. It hurt. I couldn't... there was nothing that would take the pain away. And you didn't even seem to care. So... so I wanted to make you care. Feel something, anything - and it seemed that the only way to make that happen was to hurt what you cared about."

Staring off along the treeline, she refused to look at him. Huddled on the ground with her back pressed against the rock, Maea had a distant expression about her. All wrapped up in the black memories, and the insanity that came with it.

"That's why... I went after what Nate seemed to care about."

Only wake each morning to
remember that you're gone

SUNJATA

the flood

i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind

He chooses to ignore the banshee just as she hides behind the rock, blocking its view of them. Which gives time for Sunjata to try and start to digest the answer she gives him. He isn’t as fiery as he used to be, his temper far more evened out than it had been from before. Her response is weak, though, and it is almost enough to get back to that old version of him. He waits for the papers applied to the lantern to dry as he formulates his response, muscles feathering in his jaw.

“Seems to be what everyone wants.” He mutters with some hidden bit of frustration, letting it flare the way his wings do, a shiver driving down his spine. “I did care. But you caught me in one of the roughest times I’ve gone through.” He admits, shaking his head. “So much had happened in between when you died and when you came back and you just expect everything to go back to how it was?”

He can’t understand it, confusion blaring in his mind as he tries to pick and pull apart the deeper meaning of what she’s saying. “And then you choose to attack a building that helps and heals people that was Nate’s to get back at me?” His gaze burrows into her now, narrowed and sharp as he tries to connect the lines, the dots.

you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end

Maea

Rest against my pillow
like the aging winter sun

Just like that, the agreement to not discuss the past unraveled. Maea tried to tell herself that it was a necessity this time, because her actions had been entirely founded on it. Didn't mean she enjoyed it, though. Not nearly as much as she had thought, back then. Nor did hearing that he cared offer any kind of satisfaction - which only frustrated even more. What was she, then? Just a bitter ghost unable to forget, locked in place and doomed to regurgitate the same old grudge until the end of her days?

"And to me, it was as though no time had passed." Reluctantly she turned to face him, and flinched at the sight of the tension in his jaw. Always a bad sign. "One moment I was here, fighting whales and remembering that last night we spent together. Thinking everything might be alright, somehow. The next I was... peacefully dreaming. Only to be back here again. I only closed my eyes, Jata, and everything had changed. Do you even know what that's like?"

Desperation turned her words into a plea, and she hated herself for it. For the prickling behind her eyes that mocked tears and exposed how deep these wounds truly cut her. Sucking in a breath she squeezed the eyes shut and bit her teeth together. Tried to collect herself, as if she wasn't already falling apart.

Damned ghost, to throw her off balance like this. Damned man, for being able to to tear her resolve to shreds just by existing.

"It made sense at the time," she muttered. "Now I'm disgusted with myself for losing it like that. Truth is, I thought you would catch me. In the act, or soon after... Part of me wanted you to, I think. I was... disappointed, when no one actually gave chase." Maybe she had been too good at the game. Maybe her personal vendetta had simply been too small and petty to garner attention from anyone.

It certainly looked pathetic now, from where she was sitting.

Only wake each morning to
remember that you're gone

SUNJATA

the flood

i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind

Does he know what that’s like? “Yes.” He says simply, sucking in a deep breath to tear his gaze away from the tears that shine in her eyes. “I stepped over a threshold and was suddenly here. In Caido.” He knows how everything could change in the blink of an eye. He also knows how fragile everything is once it’s boiled down to.

He stares down at the lantern in front of him – glaring – as he picks his words again. “Did you know my father arrived here? When you were gone?” He asks, moving on before she has a chance to even answer that. “Did you know that he undermined my leadership in Torchline so sufficiently, drugged me, and framed me for an attempted murder at my own home two seasons before you came back?” Another rackety inhale of breath. “Did you know that Remi dream murdered me in my own home because he didn’t believe me when I told him I didn’t do it?” He doesn’t care if she knows these things or doesn’t know these things, but he had gone so long being able to not trust his own mind that it’s the closest he can get to understanding what she’s explaining.

“My father had set riots onto my home, made my people distrust me, all without being seen. He kidnapped Nate to get to me. And you wanted me to react better to you being back when I was just getting used to trusting my mind again?” He works his jaw again and again, teeth grinding and gnashing against each other as he shakes his head and heaves a heavy sigh, finally dragging his stormcloud gaze back toward her.

He supposes it’s a good thing that she realizes her mistake, but he had nothing to go off of in order to pin her to it. “I had assumed Hotaru had started it or someone else. Not shortly before it someone had set fire to the clinic here in the Grounds, too. Thought perhaps it was the start of war. How was I to even think you’d be the one to do it?” He’d known her well enough before to know that it seemed so off, too gut reactive.

He also wonders what he’s done to all of these people that they refuse to take it out solely on him rather than taking it out on innocent buildings with innocent people within. What else did that accomplish other than more animosity?

you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end