i know, i've got a lot to learn

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

A lot has happened on this particular day. He’d made sure that he’d had everything he wanted to give to Melita, as well as tried his best to clean up the space he’d holed himself into as a hermit for so long. Bits and pieces of it still remain within the walls of this house; a surprising amount of books in a bookshelf that has overflowed, a sitting area with almost too many blankets and furs to keep anyone warm, a sooty fireplace that shows it’s been used a lot, but the home still seems remarkably empty.

It should, too, given the fact he hasn’t lived here since creating the brothel. But it was still the place he kept most of his treasured belongings – ones that would seem unassuming enough to keep here without fear of it being stolen. Such as a jacket hanging on a hook in the entry walkway, a jacket that has been worn many times, and not just by him, but Nate too. And if one put it on again, they might be able to still get the briefest hint of what the Ascended smelled like.

It's also why it’s never moved, unable to bring himself to draw too close to it.

But aside from the cleaning and the reorganizing, he’s had to hunt and gather the items required to cook a meal. And if there was one thing everyone knew about Sunjata, it was that he never really learned how to cook. But Nate had been teaching him and the little book in the kitchen is well worn with the recipes his late husband had taught him, and with his recent trip to Torchline, well, he’s decided to go with an old staple. Ramphire steaks.

Along with the variety of herbs from the overgrown garden of their house in the Boondocks, Sunjata’s quite literally doing his best, but far too intensely focused on trying to keep everything from burning to answer the door – leaving it cracked for Melita’s arrival. And once she enters the home, she’d be able to follow the smell of food to a busy, messy kitchen beside a small dining area, complete with plates set out and glasses and a water alongside some wine if she wished to indulge in it. He wasn’t sure, and in his nervousness to try and make it perfect, he’d opted for loads of options, so long as she had something to choose from she might like.

And all the while, Sunjata continues to try and keep the ramphire steaks from burning while he prepares the sides, so far finding luck despite the difficult attempts to bake the potato, unsure if the fire is too much or not enough and checking too often for it to really do any good.

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

How many chances did one man deserve?

It was a question she asked herself multiple times; down into the reaches of her fiery, embittered little heart. Should she have committed and stuck to her guns as she’d done before – to give him nothing as he tossed her aside? What was the benefit to returning to this aspect of family? To watch him ruin himself again, in some other way? To witness the shell of his own making?

She didn’t know. The Honeybee had no answers save for the rancorous edges slipping over her tongue, yielding aspects only to her mind, for the moment. You don’t get to do that to me. You don’t get to use me too. Her fists closed, clenched, tightened, around no weapons, but they remained along her lithe figure, or tucked into her bag.

Fangorn and Sila did their best on the journey over, but the closer they all came to the Refuge, the more sour her mood became. A dragon’s contented purr or a vampire gourd’s waving vines could only do so much to ease the tension sliding between her ribs and bones, until she wondered if maybe she should’ve just gotten drunk beforehand. Again.

Her eyes shifted along the sanctuary too, narrowing suspiciously at the world Sunjata had created for himself, and so many others. It didn’t feel like a haven to her, but maybe only her own soul could provide that. Heaving a breath, she knocked on the door to announce herself, and then slid in when it opened at the rapping of her knuckles. Shrugging her shoulders at both companions, she considered it a greeting, and stepped within.

“Hey,” she curled from her voice – indignant and incredulous – before the sentiment of ghosts wafted from the room. Nate’s jacket. Herbs hanging. The smell of food surrounding and pervading her senses; her dragon’s nose lifting, and her own wrinkling. Gods, what was she doing here?

And there he was, scrambling around steaks and sides. She didn’t know what else to say or what to do, but Fangorn initiated everything else with a hardy grumble.

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

The knock is an indicator that she’s arrived and with it, Sunjata’s hands far too full to actually do anything to help. But at least he’d left the door cracked so that she could slip in – already thinking ahead in the fact that he’d likely end up elbows deep into something and incapable of answering the door. The last thing he wanted to do was invite her only to put off answering the door, after all. But she slips inside and Sunjata flashes her a smile of greeting, a softer calmer one despite the chaos currently happening around him. “Hey, Mel.” Comes the accented rumble.

He sets down a pot and looks to the companions – pausing for a moment when he realizes he didn’t know she’d had another one. Since when did she get a dragon?

Sliding the steaks off of the grates of fire, he sets them aside to focus on greeting them more fully. “Come in, help yourself. I wasn’t sure what you liked so I got a variety.” A brief pause as he regards Fangorn. “I also have some food for Fangorn, but I hadn't realized there'd be two, who might you be?” He asks, flashing a brighter smile toward the dragon. Perhaps they could share the pile of meat he’d gotten for the vampire gourd.

At least, the distraction of greeting them keeps him from anxiously over checking the potatoes, giving them time to actually cook. “It’s almost done.” He pauses, turning to grab a larger plate to put the steaks on to bring to the table, unsure what else to say and simply trying to find something to do with his hands to distract him from saying anything stupid.

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

She stood stock still for a few seconds more, for all the world feeling like either a little kid or ancient; uncertain, unsteady, reaching from within and only finding primordial bitterness. Swallowing down the rancor, she edged forward, eyes inspecting the steaks, and snagging at a plate, figuring it best to start…well, there.

Fangorn replied heartily at the notions of his own meal, but the dragon stared upward at the Flood with rounded eyes, and then scattered behind Melita’s ankles. “That’s Sila,” she responded, helping herself to a large piece of meat, and then considered the sides. “I got her from Ludo a little while ago in a quest. She breathes fire, but she’s kinda shy.” A wisp of smoke followed suit on the response, tail curling around one of the Honeybee’s shins.

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

The tension is palpable in the air, but Sunjata hopes that it will alleviate as time goes on, as he makes those attempts to try and fix and acknowledge the missteps he’s taken in the past. Maybe it won’t do any good, maybe it will. He won’t know unless he tries, and here he is.

A soft smile does bloom on his face to hear Fangorn’s grumble, and his heart pangs with sorrow at the remembrance of Haai, enough that he looks to the dragonling as Melita responds while she fixes up her plate. “Hello Sila.” He says softly, taking everything off the stove to keep it from burning (it’s finished anyway), and steps over to grab a small piece of meat left behind to lower himself toward the dragon, extending a hand out that shifts and changes to replicate the dragon within his soul, as if it might alleviate the worry the small companion has. “She’s beautiful.” He offers quietly, looking away from the dragon back up toward the counter where Melita picks her food.

“I made Ramphire steaks with potatoes and vegetables.” He offers, hoping that he’s done a decent enough job following the instruction Nate had left with him that it’s edible.

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

It felt like she was standing amidst a parlor of ghosts. Like Nate’s, possibly hovering over his jacket, lingering near to see if she was willing to forgive, and understanding even if she wasn’t. He’d always been that way, in the notions that Sunjata hadn’t. The rest of the wraiths collected and clustered near her shoulders, every mark, every wound, every inward trace of rancor stitched tightly into her muscles and bones. At her fingers clutching tongs and plates and utensils, in the tense feathering of her jaw, silently, trying to find something to cling to.

Her gaze dropped to Fangorn greedily accepting his portions from her outstretched palm as she crouched, and then to Sila. Sunjata’s transformation didn’t seem to help – if anything, perhaps he was seen as stronger, commanding, demanding, in the youth’s worldview, and she curled further around the Honeybee’s ankles. “It’s okay,” she murmured, extending the wake of meat to the companion instead, and watching as she scooted closer to the gourd – freeing Melita from scales and tails. “Thank you,” because she was – even if all the fire in her heart seemed to be aimed at nothing at all.

Nodding then, the Accepted snagged at the potatoes and vegetables, inclining towards the table, pulling out a chair for herself. She didn’t even know where to start, save for glaring at Nate’s coat, and then rounding out to cutting up portions of the steak with her knife – dangerous in her grasp given any situation. “So,” she started, wrinkling her nose at her plate for want of something to say. A part of her nearly relished the discomfort, but only if it applied solely to the Flood. “What have you been up to?”

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

He doesn’t intend to frighten the dragon more, and concedes to leaving the morsel of food for Melita to offer to the dragon or for Fangorn to keep in his own little made up plate of food so that he can withdraw, wash his hands as it shifts back into his typical, scarred skin, and plates up his own meal before joining Melita at the table, letting the awkward silence nag at him in ways he isn’t quite sure how to deal with aside from the soft little “you’re welcome,” that leaves him after she thanks him.

Thankfully, she breaks the awkwardness, though his story of what he’s been up to hasn’t been much. Perhaps that’s for the best – no longer out there making stupid and ridiculous choices all under the guise of protecting those he loved. “Nothing really. I’ve been working on a Frey quest I intend to finish soon, but other than that just making sure the House of Midnight is in good shape.” He’s been invited to the Hanged Man reopening, but he isn’t sure if that’s important enough information at this moment.

“What about you? Has Jack descended upon the Grounds yet?” A small crooked smile tugs at his scarred face with the question, recalling the conversation of frustration over heading back to the shithole that was the Hollowed Grounds. And while he waits, he pours himself a small glass of wine, before taking a bite from the ramphire steak, surprising himself with the taste of it. It obviously isn’t as good as Nate might have cooked once, but it’s better than anything else he’s ever managed to make himself.

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

She probably should’ve known better, but to alleviate discomfort was to place some firmly back on him. “Oh. What’s the quest for?” Cutting into her steak, and lifting the fork to her mouth, she listened thoughtfully, chewing, nodding along, content the food was edible. Before diving into her potatoes and side dishes though, she arched a brow, uncertain if she’d heard the name before. “Is that your…brothel?” Uncertain how to word it any other way, she shrugged, and then snagged further into her food.

The corresponding question left her eyes rolling and putting her glass of water back down with an audible thud. “Gods.” Wrinkling her nose and striving, with great difficulty, not to break into a snarl, the youth persisted and continued. “Spire’s still there. Lots of lightning around it now. But lots of farmland. Islands.” And the ever-present emotional trauma, lingering in the back of her mind for Jack to suffer with.

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

The quest in and of itself shouldn’t be an awkward thing to talk about – and yet, with Melita, he finds it odd to mention or speak of. But he’s trying to be better, yet again, and simply dives into the meal with his own fork and knife to cut the steak up while he formulates a response. “It’s an upgrade to the brothel to make it so that the rooms change to be whatever the person wants it to be.” So far, it’s been a popular change – one that he’s optimistic in making sure that it stays that way.

And so, he nods again at the question. “Yes, sorry. The House of Midnight is the name of it. It’s a bit aways from here in Meadowreach.” He offers quietly – in case there was any worry about potentially or accidentally running into it. At least, the sign out front might be a good enough ward away, and there wasn’t anyone outside trying to lure anyone within.

Luckily – or perhaps unluckily, he shifts the subject toward the Grounds and takes a bite of the steak before chasing it with a sip of whiskey before a frown starts to bloom on his face and clear absolute confusion. “Why of all things did that have to stay?” He sighs, looking down to his plate as he figures out his next set of words when he snags on even more confusion. “Islands?” How did that work? Unless the Grounds was essentially torn apart. Would he even recognize it these days?

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

She took another bite, contemplating all the other arrays of Sunjata’s suddenly thriving business. Brothel creations and upgrades, stretches out to Meadowreach. Waving her fork at him, she casually chewed on another piece. Swallowing it down, she finally relented amusing plans and notions. “Maybe you could compete with Torchline’s. Or Stormbreak’s.” Might give them all something else to do.

She’d be avoiding it, regardless.

Snorting again at the layered insinuations towards the Grounds, she went about inspecting some of her vegetables as his surprise stuck to the walls and table. “Dunno. No one around to tear it down?” Gathering a forkful of green beans, she plopped them into her mouth before nodding along. “Islands. It looks like it broke apart, kinda. The Inner Quarter is still there, but then there’s a lot more hills.” And probably some other weird shit.

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

Sunjata softens the second Melita doesn’t seem to bristle from his current prospects, and even offers a small little compliment even with the wave of the fork as she eats the food he’s quietly so proud to have made edible. “I’ve never seen Stormbreak’s, but it is the goal.” A small smile tugs on his lips before he takes another small bite. It was no secret that he’d indulged in Torchline’s brothel once Maeve had owned it, and the few times he’d been in Stormbreak he’d certainly not had that on his mind.

As for the Grounds, the subject shifts towards sneers and distaste, and Sunjata lets her explain while he quietly chews on a few bites of steak before following it with a sip of water. “That’s a shame.” He says of the Spire, exhaling a soft sigh. “It’s got to be strange to look at, seeing things that are familiar and things that have completely changed.” Things he isn’t sure he wishes to experience, so it’s likely he’ll still be doing his best to avoid the Grounds the best he can. “Does it still feel… Weird? Like something’s going to happen?” He asks, unable to let his curiosity die down.

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

Shrugging her shoulders at his goal, whether through pettiness or spite, she figured it was better than an assortment of things that he’d once tried to achieve. So even if there was some imminent failure pressing and looming, it wouldn’t be so blunt, painful, and tangible.

Sipping down multitudes of water, and placing her glass back down, she inspected the rest of her plate, before cutting another piece of steak. As the knife slid between meat and fibers, she listened – to the strangeness, to the bizarre qualities rampaging through the Grounds. “Yeah. Like…you can’t erase that sense of dread.” Which Jack hadn’t understood, but she knew Sunjata would – given how many damned things had happened there. “Feels haunted, almost.” By many, many things.

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

It was better – low costs, keeping his hands to himself, hidden away in the middle of King’s End where there was little to no vital things that could happen that would change the world as they knew it. As far as he was concerned, he’s been doing well these days. And there is some happiness when it came to her shrug, no complaints, no wishes for things to be different. Perhaps he was on the right track to prove that he was different.

Even still, the crux of the Grounds lingers at the back of his mind and he can’t help but to ask the question, eating more of his steak while he listens to her answer, washing it down with another sip of water before a frown crosses his face. “I hated that feeling.” He admits. It had always been there for him, lingering, but it was where the Ascended worked the best, had located themselves, and back then? It hadn’t felt as bad. Nowadays, though, not only did the LongNight monster memories seem to haunt the place, but the Ascended that never made it out of the war seemed to follow suit. “I still have to prepare for LongNight like I’m still in the Grounds.” Distrustful, unable to keep from loading everything up into his place of residence at the time, refraining from leaving just in case.

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

Melita

yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard

There might’ve been opportunities for the Hollowed portions to not be so damned and doomed; but it seemed despite interests prior, no one had taken up the mantle. Melita figured the work would be something nearly insurmountable, but if they had a core group?

Eh, whatever. It wasn’t going to be her.

Snagging at another few sips of water before applying herself back to her vegetables, her brow arched at the indication of the LongNight traumas still pressing. She didn’t do the same – Torchline had the freedom of bonfires, drunken stupidity, and ridiculous antics to keep all that apprehension at bay. “Still collecting snow moss and barricading the doors and windows?” Maybe all the monsters were gone, but their memories remained, vigilant and horrifying.

I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury