i know, i've got a lot to learn

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

It was a tender moment – one of those that Sunjata works hard to commit to his memory – memory that had its issues given the years leading up to the war. So far, though, he’s managed to not forget too much, and for that he thinks it’s a win. This moment, however, will go into the archives of his mind as one of their better ones, hopefully enough to block out the arguments they’d had now that there had been lessons learned from them.

So his smile is soft as he nods, watching her run her hands over the edge of the book in a gentle swath of motion, no longer fire and brimstone but gentle and soft, as easily as a bee might drift from petal to petal. “You’re welcome, heuningby.” He murmurs gently, reaching out with his lightning scarred hand to push the trinket a little bit closer toward her, just to make sure it isn’t forgotten in the place of the book and tinctures.

“There are a lot of great notes and instructions in there.” And the more one read the pages, the more they could hear the way Nate had talked – translated in the way he’d written down the instructions, in the notes left behind. Written out in ways that made his heart ache over and over and over again.

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

For half a moment, she wondered if she should be mad at him again. Become a thundering bit of stone and fire, rip and tear him apart at the seams – for keeping this away for so long. For portions and pieces of Nate locked away, corded off, for no one else to see.

But she didn’t – mostly because she understood why. If she’d had artifacts of her mother, of her sister, wouldn’t she have done the same? Instead, all she had were figments and memories, lullabies and laughter, swift butterflies careening around herbs, sweet voices that echoed from time to time, and songs hummed behind her teeth.

At least here there was diction, words, writing, from Nate’s own hand, striving to carry out some semblance of his motivations and goals that weren’t derived from warfare or animosity. She sniffled something back, wiped a tear out of the corner of her eye, and her fingers scraped over the trinket, clutching it hard in the palm of her hand. “Good. Because I don’t know the first thing about healing,” followed by a warbly, watery laugh at the multiple meanings.

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 had been hard, initially just to even go through everything. It had stayed in place as if he’d had this hopeless thought that the longer it stayed there, the further from the war they got, that Isla might have lied about it and Nate hadn’t perished in the war, like he’d walk right back through those doors with open arms. But as time went on, it became more and more unlikely, and rather than let them collect dust like he lived in a mausoleum of his husband, he’d gotten drunk one night and organized the majority, still finding it difficult to part with any of it.

Now, it was time. He couldn’t hoard everything to himself, it would be a disservice to the man that had changed so much in so many lives. And this gift in particular is one that Sunjata couldn’t imagine going to anyone else but the Honeybee.

At the tear, though, he has to look away — down at the trinkets and items to ensure that he doesn’t start to fall apart himself, evidenced by the hoarseness of his accented throat when he clears it, nodding as he reaches for his glass of water, managing a rough laugh around the tightness of his throat. “Me neither. I do a piss poor job at it for someone that got into enough shit. Would’ve helped a lot.” He rumbles, taking a sip of the water as if it would chase away the cobwebs of his throat.

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 gave herself ample amounts of time, moments stretching into more than just mere seconds, before sliding pages of the book through her fingers, wondering if she’d be able to commit them to memory. She hadn’t been capable of doing so with her mother’s healing, nurturing diatribes; too young, too ignorant, too unaware of how everything would fall apart. But maybe, if she studied the text, it’d be like Nate was still there – with all the details written in between lines, with all the parallel strokes of diction and words, with all –

The Honeybee nodded, and gently closed the book, the steely resolve trying to find its way back to her bones once more. “Thank you again,” she murmured, pondering it it’d be too much to snag the thing and hold it close to her chest. “Maybe we’ll both be better at it,” and she shrugged, uncertain of what else to say. “I’m going to clean up his lantern this year,” the one she’d made in previous intervals, before glancing back Sunjata’s way, to gauge a reaction.

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

She could clutch it however she wanted to — gods knew Sunjata’d held so many things close to his chest over the years. There would be no judgment, just a quiet understanding of it all. “You’re welcome, Mel.” He murmurs softly, moving to collect his dishes to get them off of the table, setting them in the sink before he returns, offering her a gentle smile.

“Hopefully.” He agrees with a soft airy laugh, exhaling into a sigh when she informs him that she intends to clean his lantern up this year. His hand lifts to run through his hair, resting on the back of his neck as he nods. “Yeah, I was planning on it too. Thought it could use a bit more red in it than I gave it, too.” He sinks into a chair again, contemplating what to add to it alongside the cleaning.

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

Instead of doing anything else with it, the book remained there, amidst her fingers and clasp, like a stone, or an anchor, keeping her rooted in place. While he put away the dishes, she merely stared at it, lifelines and all, letting it remain, watching over them for the time being. Then, with a long, slow breath, she shook her head, glancing at the world around her again, instead of being absorbed into melancholy. “Do you want help putting the food away?” It’d certainly aid her in distractions and reality.

Maneuvering around to where the leftovers remained, her gilded eyes flickered back to the Flood; portions of lanterns and nuances shared. She couldn’t recall all the details he’d placed upon the sanction of memories – realizing, maybe, that she’d never even seen it. “What else is on it?”

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 expect her to help, but when she offers he hums a soft sound of agreement. “If you would like to.” He won’t say no, of course. After all, this dinner despite it’s difficult beginnings has gone well, and Sunjata’s hopeful (to the point where his chest almost hurts with it) that it’s a sign of their growth and good things to come.

He meanders toward the kitchen with his selection of plates, setting them in the sink before he moves onto the wax lined fabric used to help preserve the rest of the dinner, sure that it would get eaten at some point (gods knew it was probably the best thing he’s ever cooked, and somewhere he thinks that Nate would be proud of that fact). Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt when she asks about Nate’s lantern, and his lips twist in a somewhat fond manner, working to prep the fabric for the meat as he speaks. “It’s mostly a silver lantern, but the bottom portion has hints of leather because of that jacket he always wore. I etched in some stars into the metal, like the tattoos he had on his side, and a little bird on the other side.” He pauses, moving to take the meat to slip into the fabric pocket he’s made. “But I want to get a band to go around it in gold and silver that’s our rings combined. We had them made so they would fit together.” He wore the sun, and Sunjata wore the moon. And they fit together perfectly.

"What's on yours?" He asks, looking up at her, lips still lifted into a small smile with the fondness 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

It freed her hands and gave her something to do while he talked, a restlessness clinging to the forefront of her mind that she likely wouldn’t be able to shake until later. Taking portions and pieces of food, and laying it amongst the wax lined fabric, she also secured any extra plates, glasses, and utensils, listening all the while.

Silver and leather seemed to encompass Nate a great deal, and while not the whole physical entity of him, an accurate representation of his daily life. Stars, birds, and maybe rings – her brow furrowed, deep in contemplation, before the inquiry meandered back to her, and she realized how quiet she’d gone.

“Oh, um,” and immediately she knew it probably wasn’t good enough, but that meant there were second chances in this interim and upcoming season. “I had it in all black, with bright blue streaks of electricity and lightning going down the sides.”

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

They work together easily to put the food away, and once that’s completed Sunjata moves onto the sink to clean it up, already placing a towel down to put the dishes and utensils and pots and pans. He grabs a sponge and gets to work, listening as she describes Nate’s lantern, letting a soft smile overcome his face as he soaps up and cleans the utensils first, nodding his head. “Electricity is a good addition.” Perhaps it’s something he should think to add too – Nate’s abilities. Maybe he could try and fit a little white cloth of additional hands, using the heat and air from the flame to wave them around.

But that would probably end up being too silly of a thing to add to such a cherished item, so he mulls it over as he rinses the utensils and sets them on the towel to start to dry while he starts to wash the plates. “He had this… Ability where he looked like a plasma ball. It was this electric toy thing that we had in Korofi that’s entire point was to have little streaks of electricity seek out your fingers when you touched it. Though you couldn’t feel anything. So when you touched him it did the same thing, little lights just seeking out your fingers.” Not something he could add to his lantern realistically, but gods he wished he could. “It always surprised me how similar it was to that toy from Korofi.” He snorts.

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

Instinctively, the Honeybee moved to grab a nearby towel, figuring she could dry each dish as they came through and save some labor and work. As he finished, she’d efficiently move over the edges of each utensil, pot, and pan, placing them down afterwards, giving her something to do in the middle of quiet mulling.

She nodded at the vague semblance of approval, and then listened to the assortment of other abilities she hadn’t known about. There’d always been the extra limbs (though she wasn’t sure how she’d be able to recreate such a thing – save for sticking pairs of hands out from the sides of the lantern; which may have given off a certain creepy and distinctive vibe Nate would’ve appreciated).

Ignorant of plasma balls but wishing she’d had them in her childhood, her eyes widened, fingers occupied by forks and knives. “I could make it look more like that, I suppose,” she pondered, gaze going to the floor in thought. “Or maybe a little drawing of his starwhale.”

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 doesn’t expect her to come and help dry the dishes he washes, but he finds he’ll certainly not complain as she picks up a towel and starts to dry them and he offers the little tidbit of additional magic Nate had harbored, how it had resembled something from his homeland only made it seem to him like they were that much more perfect for one another. Of course, the toy was something that had dwelled in Nate’s previous world, too, and perhaps that’s why they managed to understand one another so well.

Nostalgia quickly overcomes him, however, as he nods to that – a fond smile blooming on his face. “Pemota.” He murmurs softly. “I think he’d like that.” If he were anywhere to see what memories Melita had of Nate to add. “He also got a dragon before the war.” He glances over his shoulder to look back and see where Melita’s own dragon companion had gone before looking over to her with that same soft smile. “His name was Ramoth.”

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

Allowing her restless energy to be consumed by drying dishes, her head tilted vaguely, nodding at the summation of the starwhale – Pemota – all mechanical etchings and designs she’d never quite seen brought to life. It encouraged a little smile along her mouth, but then the other declaration caught her by surprise.

Eyes going to Sila, who’d now made herself at home beside Fangorn as they looked for any crumbs underneath the table, the Honeybee realized she’d missed another aspect of Nate. The war had made them all part ways for various reasons, mostly anger, tirades, and the unfairness of it all, and her brows furrowed again, tone quiet once more. “Oh. I didn’t know that.” Struggling to paint any figment or picture of it in her head, she figured the Flood would have the best answer. “What was Ramoth like?”

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’s entirely as wholesome of a scene as Sunjata could ever have hoped to get as he looks over his shoulder back toward the companions, both meandering under the tables for scraps and crumbs, and he turns toward Melita again when she asks her question – knowing that there had been a few things the honeybee hadn’t been aware of, but not from a fault of her own. Simply the timing had never quite been right and Nate had so much on his plate before the war and Sunjata had delved so far into his own bullshit he couldn’t see the sky anymore.

So he moves onto washing the pots and pans once the plates are done as he mulls over the answer. “He was an energetic little thing. Similar to Haai but just as emotional as Pemota was. Had no problems with nipping at you if you so much as got in his spot.” He snorts fondly. “I’d say he was mostly a proud dragon. Not unlike Nate.” Prideful and boisterous, extroverted and wanting to be seen.

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

Continuing to dry the dishes as Sunjata finished washing them, her gaze took on more contemplative natures and notions as he described the dragon she’d never meet. Energetic, emotional, probably mercurial; given Nate’s own tendencies, and she couldn’t help the wistful little smile that appeared in the corner of her mouth. “Okay. I’ll include him too.” Imagining a proud little thing in the corner of the lantern, amongst and amidst Pemota floating along, and the lightning strikes surrounding them all.

Another question nagged, because she could see the answer going either way – so she offered it nonetheless. “Are you going to the Festival this year?”

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