i know, i've got a lot to learn

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

He does huff a soft laugh at her suggestion, offering her a half shake of his head and a half nod, before taking a sip of his drink again. “No snow moss. Windows are closed, everything I need for the weeks are there, and I don’t go outside.” The last time he had, he’d found Locke and brought him back to the Boondocks house and when Nate had stepped out of the door to greet them, something had started launching snowballs at them. He still doesn’t know what, his dragon’s sight unable to see that far in the dark, evidently.

“Spend most of the time reading or trying to sleep because gods know what day or time it is outside.” This is said with a slight wrinkling of his nose – having never had a good LongNight with Nate before without something fucking happening. And since then, plagued with the memories, he keeps to himself those weeks and everyone else is none the wiser.

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

Neatly slicing a stewed carrot in half, she listened vaguely to his methods. “Supposedly all the LongNight monsters are gone though,” she offered, without the greatest conviction. Even with the Voice destroyed, those little inklings of what if always managed to transpire through. What if one had snuck into another land? What if they couldn’t all be destroyed? What if they’d found ways to exist without their goddess? She wouldn’t put anything past the world at this point – not with her time in Helovia, the Rift, and Caido.

“Doesn’t mean there isn’t any other shit out there,” and she shrugged, skewering another green bean with ease and chomping down the remains off her fork. “Maybe you can start your own LongNight traditions instead.” What with his…”new” schtick. Torchline had bonfires and drunken splendor. Hollowed Grounds had trauma. Halo had…probably fucking cold darkness. She didn’t know what the Greatwood or Stormbreak had (probably ignorance, racism, and obliviousness amongst the stones).

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 hums a half sound of agreement with her, the lack of conviction in her voice mimicking the exact thoughts that run through his mind. “Didn’t they say that once before and were wrong?” He adds, finding himself growing paranoid again as any talk of LongNight had a tendency of doing for the Flood. As it stands now, however, he concedes the point regardless. “Even if they are all gone I still don’t trust it.” His nose wrinkles, not unlike the way hers had done prior, and he pauses to listen as he eats the last few bites of his steak, following it with a glass of Torchline wine.

“I’ll have to think up some things to try.” In terms of traditions – unsure what exactly would be something he wanted to do. As for her, though, he tilts his head toward her, flashing her an easier smile. “Do you still do the usual Torchline LongNight tradition?” Bonfires and drinking on the beach? You know, when you aren’t getting conned into finding something in Rae’s Fingers, only to be led astray by Jack.

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 made a mulish sort of face, half of her nose curled, lips contorted into half a sneer. “Yeah okay, but we didn’t have anything last year,” as far as she could recall. The usual drunken shenanigans on the beach, the sky dark overhead, and no monsters coming to call. “But fine,” hand waving the fixtures away so she could skewer another piece of her steak.

Muttering and uttering around her food, she pondered over complexities. “Could be like..lantern lighting and shit. Like down a path or something. Big ass fires.” Ways to ensure the darkness wasn’t so encroaching, pervading, and overwhelming. That one could reach out their hands and see them, rather than fade deeper into the murk.

At his other question though, she snorted. “Of course. No need to stop those traditions.”

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 can’t help the soft chuckle that slips from him when she tells him there was nothing last year, watching as she waves her fork. He nods, conceding the point as he remains sat back in his seat, thinking about it. “That’s fair. I kept the curtains drawn and didn’t leave the House of Midnight.” He offers as a way of saying he wouldn’t know whether there was or wasn’t because he didn’t take any chances to find out.

She makes suggestions and Sunjata’s head tilts slightly as he regards her, a soft smile blooming on his face as he nods. They’re all very good suggestions, and he makes a mental note of them, tucking them away for later. “Do a combination maybe, big bonfires on the edges with the lanterns to lead the way between them?” He suggests, taking her ideas and combining them, before he takes a sip of his drink again. “Shame I don’t have any fire magic.” He has exactly the opposite, able to drown out any flames should they go rogue, but nothing to help keep them fueled and ready.

As for her continuing the Torchline traditions, he snorts in response too. “It is the best one, I think.” Far better than what he’s used to doing.

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

Years before, it would’ve been difficult to imagine her uncle as reclusive, hidden amongst his curtains and brothel – but times had changed, and she could understand it somewhat. Shrugging again, her concentration honed back to her drink and then her fork toyed with a few more vegetables, before skewering those too. “You could,” as he calculated over lanterns and flames, and she could imagine long lanes of them, leading whomever out of the fields of King’s End and to the House of Midnight’s quarters – for whatever their purpose.

Though the implication thereafter ensured a massive eyeroll. “It’s not hard to start a fire.” Nor keep it going – he wouldn’t even need to apply any magic. Men, she nearly muttered, taking to frowning instead.

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’s already planning how to go about staking out the lanterns and torches to make sure there’s a line of light that leads to the house of midnight when she responds to his comment of fire magic, something that takes Sunjata off guard enough that he actually laughs a warm, deep chuckle of a sound, sitting back in his chair as he exhales a sigh, catching the slight loss of breath back.

“Well, yeah.” He offers, lips quirked into an amused smile. “You can’t deny that it wouldn’t be fun to just stand in one spot and light all of the torches without leaving the spot.” He makes a motion with his hand, pretending as if he can show her the fire dancing from place to place, lighting torch after torch.

He has no magic here, however, to pretend a drop of water was the equivalent, and so — forced to show without it he hopes she understands it and gives into the humor he finds with it. “You would be great at it.” With her penchant of fire. “Oh, which reminds me.” He stands up to go and grab a dark canvas bag, rather large to cover the item in it that he brings back to the table, setting aside his own plates to make room for it.

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

“Maybe I could,” she started, already mulish again, taking it as a personal challenge. One – she could use explosives, and everything would be destroyed but also on fire, which counted. Two – perhaps a very well shot arrow down a singular lane, where the elements burned together one right after the other. Perhaps she’d try it during LongNight. Or when she went home. So she merely snorted at his response, as if to say it wasn’t all that impressive.

Finishing her vegetables and steak, and intending to do the same to the potatoes, her eyes followed him, having already forgotten another purpose to this dinner meeting. Something within her curled and contorted, and she found herself sitting ramrod straight as soon as he brought back a bag and set it along the table. Her eyes went back to him, waiting.

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 already knows that she’s well equipped with arrows, but this one might help the matters of lighting the torches from a single line — and besides, he has no use for it these days. “Oh, I have no doubt.” He says, offering her a crooked smile — believing in the fact that she can and has done anything she’s set her mind to.

The bag on the table captures her attention, though, and Sunjata remains standing so that he can open the bag and take the parts out. “So, I know you already have one, but, I was gifted this and it would likely get more use in your hands than mine.” He rumbles softly, pulling out the smooth wooden bow, setting it on the table in front of her alongside some normal looking arrows. “It ignites any arrows placed within it when you pull the trigger.” He waits to see whether or not she wants to inspect it, or importantly, wants it at all.

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

Unfamiliar and unacquainted with the bow’s history, her eyes widened, rounding briefly, as the gift was unfurled. While the youth did have her own, already capable of being drawn by simple movements, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t take another, or find a way to gift it to some other archer looking for their lot in life.

Or…just hoard it.

Standing up from the table and ignoring the remainder of her plate, her hands reached for the weapon, patting it gently, beginning to inspect it properly. “Whoa. Where’d you find it? Was it Nate’s?” She couldn’t be certain, given what the Flood had said about its properties and compulsion towards fire – but she also wouldn’t count the notion out.

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

There’s an almost fond smile that forms on the Flood’s face the second Melita draws toward it, inspecting it with curiosity and interest, and Sunjata believes it to be a good gift at that point. As for where he found it and whether it was Nate’s? He shrugs a shoulder and steps aside to give her more room to inspect the bow.

“He might have used it once, but as far as how I got it, I got it from Wessex. The Ascended as a whole had used it for the LongNight monsters, if memory serves.” He doesn’t know much more details from that, other than Wessex gifting it to him in the last few attempts at trying to turn the tide of the war, though it had seen little to no action strapped to Sunjata’s back. “Realistically, I’m not sure why the Ascended would’ve wanted something like this given how… Explosive they were.” His nose wrinkles and he winces slightly at the memory.

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 turned it over, back and forth, and found, despite its apparent journey, in good working order and condition. That Wessex had it was another bizarre conundrum, notions of LongNight monsters and the rapacious wakes of fighting, of promises made to Grounders, and then some still returning despite all those efforts…

Letting the semblances and bizarre networks slip through, she shrugged her shoulders. Why the Wraith had deigned Sunjata to have it probably only appealed during war efforts, and then he hadn’t gone anyway – another lost cause. “Huh. Well. I’ll take it.” Pausing, she glanced at the table, then back at her uncle. “Thanks.”

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 could try and try to wrap his mind around the implications of it all, how Wessex had come to have it as well as how he’d eventually ended up with it – but he doesn’t want to delve too far into the dramatics over that. Likely, given the fact that he became the ruler of the Grounds for a short stint of time, perhaps she had hoped it would give him something to help protect them with – even if he’d told Isla he wouldn’t stay during the war when he had a safe haven to run.

So he nods to her, stepping aside from the table as he offers her a soft smile and an accented “you’re welcome” before he’s reaching for another bag – this one smaller, and within it a journal, some tonics, and a trinket that he brings over to the table in a clear spot away from the weaponry. “And I found this in Nate’s things.” It would do better in her hands than his, after all. “It’s a book that he wrote out some of the best non magical ways to heal injuries.” Because as they both knew that Nate was no fan of magical healing, that the doctor had gone through and worked hard to put together remedies for ailments and wounds that didn’t require such a thing. “There’s some medicines in there, too. I thought it could be useful for you.” His fingers trail over the cover of the journal, worn from use, and inside she’ll find Nate’s handwriting – laid out before them. And the little trinket inside, an addition Sunjata had added but thought better than to mention he'd been the one to add it - a silver charm of a honeybee, able to be attached to anything she wished.

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

The bow was carefully placed into her bag, amongst and amidst the other accoutrements of destruction. Thereafter though, came something else, and she was once more stunned into silence, glancing over more artifacts. What she didn’t expect was a book, but the notions churning thereafter explained it well – Nate’s – with all the notations on healing, on soothing, on mending –

And she was immediately reminded of her mother too, of herbs hanging from ceilings, of plants sprung and collected, of buds blossoming and her gentle recitations that the Honeybee still couldn’t recall. “Oh,” was all she could emit for a moment, tenderly, gingerly, glossing her fingers over the book, far more careful than she had been with the weapon – as if it were a fragile thing. Reading down through the page, and memorizing nothing, made her bite her lip with the sudden swell of emotions, tucking them back and away. “This is great,” she muffled instead, all the fire and brimstone drifting down her throat. “Thank you.” So much that she didn’t even see the charm; too transfixed on a blend of old and new and past and present.

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