a rifle full of dreams

// so now you've done a little wrong and you need to be forgiven,
by the vicar and the company you keep //

(Set directly after the George death thread)

It’s true, her emotions through the Attuned bond had flayed through any defenses he had to offer, pressing into him with a sense of urgency and sudden panic that he had turned into immediate action. He just… hadn’t expected it to end the way it had, even as he sets her down away from the body, still cloaked in scales and horns and wings looking like nothing but the devil as he tries to parse his panic, tries to ensure she’s okay, and curses himself for having nothing that could heal her arm as she heals her side.

Just a visual scar, a reminder perhaps, whether or not they want it. Something Sunjata’s uniquely familiar with; the scar that runs up his cheek paired with the pale lines that can be seen in the snowy moonlight on his dark leathery wing.

He shakes off her thanks, because there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to be there the second she called for him. It isn’t something he should receive the gratitude for. It’s something he wants to do, wants to be. That protector. A savior, after so many he’d loved and failed to protect.

Her gratitude for everything is simply met with the pulses of love and relief, that she’s here, that whatever had happened to George hadn’t taken her from him. And it’s that relief that keeps his hands from shaking from the adrenaline as he surveys her.

Underneath the sweater he wears, taloned fingers slice through the cream shirt as he moves to take her arm, to wrap around her wound to stave off the bleeding for the time being, before his hands raise to her cold face and he tugs her in against him, shrouding her in his warmth. “We have to bury him. And inform whomever… that it was self defense.” His deep voice rumbles, still half dragon half man, even as his sharp talons are tender and careful where they touch her, like he might break her.

“Do you want my sweater? Or do you want to go in and get some new clothes?” Because he realizes that she won’t let him do it on his own, nor will he keep her from it.

// this is the sin that i will confess to release myself
from consequence and everyone can tell //

SUNJATA

did goodbye mean letting go?

For all Caido has taken from her, these will be her first real scars. A tangible reminder of the choice she made, the life she'd snuffed out without a second thought. Despite the cold reality of her choice, despite the fact she has no real regrets, Hotaru doesn't dare to look anywhere but Sunjata's face. Selfishly, she doesn't want to have to see the dark form of George's body in the snow beyond the Flood's broad shoulders.

Ru watches his hands as they firmly wrap the cut on her forearm, the shock making her head feel like cotton, even the dull hurt of new pressure on the wound a distant thing. The only thing that has any hope of reaching her is his touch, and as he gently touches her face and pulls her into the warmth of his body, Hotaru falls into it immediately. The rumble of his voice through his chest is more important to her than the duty that lies before them, but her hands claw and cling immediately to Sunjata's clothes at the faintest notion of separation.

"Your sweater," she croaks, voice hoarse from George's frantic grip around her throat. She doesn't want to think about the fact that George's mother will have to be told, by Torchline's officials if not by Hotaru herself. Doesn't want to ruminate on the reality that she knew the man well enough to be aware of these things. "Will we be able t-o -" her voice cracks, though it's cruel of her to say it's not from emotion, and she switches to the bond, to bury him when the ground is so hard? Will any of their shifts be capable of it? Her Komodo form is a natural burrower, but the snow doesn't make her hopeful.

But she can't bear the thought of his body resting in the House of Midnight either. She never wants to look at it again.

and did letting go mean forever?
 

HOTARU

// so now you've done a little wrong and you need to be forgiven,
by the vicar and the company you keep //

She presses into his hug, into his body, and there’s relief despite the way she seems to cling to him, to claw at his clothes. And he listens intensely as she begins to speak, still so grateful that he’d been there in time, relieved and thankful that she stands there even while George’s body grows colder in the snow. Even as she tells him which she’d prefer, she holds onto him for fear of letting him go, and it’s all he can do to offer her the gentle consolation that he isn’t going anywhere, not as he slowly starts to withdraw, immediately removing the warm sweater and slipping it onto her.

It's large, looking more like a dress than anything, but it’s warm and soft and it smells like him as he responds back to her worry, pulling her back in the second she gets the sweater situated. “Yes.” He assures her. He’d had to build half of the Refuge here while the ground was frosted over, frozen and hard as rock. It’s an amazing use of his dragon shift, to be able to claw up trenches and holes wherever needed, and thankfully with her being Attuned, she won’t have to sit there in her thoughts alone while he does it.

My dragon shift will be able to make a grave for him. Would you… Want a marker? A gravestone or something to signify where he rests? After all, there was still something so strange about this, something that burns against the back of his mind. But it’s too late now to get to the bottom of it, he supposes, if only for the fact that George is no longer here to answer.

// this is the sin that i will confess to release myself
from consequence and everyone can tell //

SUNJATA

did goodbye mean letting go?

He is the only one privy to this weakness, this grasping, shaking thing that spreads through her arms in a way she wishes she could blame on puppeteering instead of the pitiful softness at the core of her. The settling of his sweater over her skin is like plates of armor, grounding her in warmth and the familiar scent of him.

As the shock begins to ebb slowly, a different kind of armor begins to emerge. One that shields her from the hurt, the doubt, the questioning. An old, reliable friend. Anger.

Her lip twitches and reveals a dim flash of her teeth in the moonlight, canines a little too long and eyes glinting oddly with tapetum lucidum tissue only an animal could have. No. If his body must be on the property, she will not allow a marker. At least - Not a permanent one. They can either retrieve the body or have an empty gravestone placed in Torchline. Whatever marker he places will be entirely empty and easy to bypass. King's End is known for its graves after all. Let George rot with all the other forgotten bodies.

Sunjata may still question and doubt, but Hotaru can't allow herself to feel it. Instead, she cloaks herself in the rage of her own foolishness, the ease at which George had deceived her, slipped a knife right into her Achilles Heel. He had tried to kill her, had tried to kill Sunjata. Her protectiveness boils blatantly in the bond, spiteful and snarling, refusing to give George the decency of a gravestone when he'd dared to spill her lover's blood with the intent to kill.

It's an easier emotion to feel, an almost positive one given it's in defense of the man she loves, than the betrayal and hurt that lurks beneath.

and did letting go mean forever?
 

HOTARU

// so now you've done a little wrong and you need to be forgiven,
by the vicar and the company you keep //

Despite being the only one privy to the weakness, it isn’t something Sunjata will judge her for. It’s what drives him to pulse nothing but affection and care for her, for the protection that it’s clear they both have offered to one another, protection that assures despite whatever threat there might be that they can handle it without second guessing. The regrets and confusion can come later, as it does now with the Flood, but he focuses on her right now, because making sure she’s okay before they continue is his utmost, top priority.

Her feline features meet with the protective understanding of his dragon shift, still shown in the scales and claws that tenderly continue to reach for her, to run a sharp talon through pulling her blonde hair back as he situates the sweater a bit more on her. Of course. He murmurs to her, nothing but assured understanding as he pushes away his second guessing as to what happened with George, but needing to ask the question anyway.

After all, they were supposed to go on a date before Sunjata got into the middle of it. Before Hotaru had come to him in the House of Midnight trying to see if she could still feel something when she kissed. When this reconnection had begun to turn from a tiny snowball into a boulder, rolling faster and faster.

He doesn’t want to part from her, but he tries to soothe her with the understanding that he will have to do it. But they can try to make it quick, he can try to bury the body and take her upstairs to bed and push away any of those cold worries that she might harbor over whether or not he’d stay.

His hands shift back into the smooth calloused ones of his own flesh and bone, and he squeezes her bicep softly, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead in face of her ferality, before he lets his hand lower to her own to tangle and squeeze. “Let’s get started then.” He’s vocal about each and every one of his intentions, so that the second he withdraws his hand she knows it’s because he’s picking up the cold lifeless body of George, shrouding them from any prying eyes within the House of Midnight with the leathery wings, and starts the walk away, closer to one of the burial grounds on the edge of Meadowreach, figuring it will blend in well enough amongst the rest of the dead.

// this is the sin that i will confess to release myself
from consequence and everyone can tell //

SUNJATA

did goodbye mean letting go?

Even after years of this, no matter how disjointed and displaced, Hotaru is not accustomed to him filling her hollow and weakened spots with love and understanding. His loyalty in the face of her emotional vulnerability will never cease to confuse and befuddle her. Any moment she did not keep pace with Thranduil, didn’t take the upper hand, didn’t keep the facade of imperiousness, he would needle and poison every inch of skin showing between her armored plates of protection. As much as she had always wished for exactly this, it’s clear she hasn’t gotten to a place where it’s comfortable or natural to receive it. There is still the internal urge repeating in her head how she needs to get it together.

Maybe that voice is what has her hands unclenching slowly from Sunjata’s shirt at the same time he pulls away, or maybe it’s the soft way he kisses her face even when it’s contorted in a hateful grimace. She subsides, appeased for the moment. He goes exactly where she knew he would, where he said he would, so the volatile emotions only simmer and ache in her chest instead of exploding.

Shadowing his steps, Ru envisions providing the sharp claws of her Komodo form alongside him, taking her aggression and futility out on the iced over soil. She knows her injuries won’t allow it which means Sunjata likely won’t either, so she merely stands as a frozen sentinel watching the proceedings. Refusing to look at George’s slack face. Until it’s covered at last with dark dirt, nearly black even beneath the moon. Her arms hold herself, Sunjata’s sweater the best comfort she has until the deed is done. Only then do her shadowed eyes lift to find the Flood’s face. “Is it done?” She wants to pretend that by doing this it’s all over and done with, but that level of denial is better suited for people more naive than the Valkyrie.

and did letting go mean forever?
 

HOTARU

// so now you've done a little wrong and you need to be forgiven,
by the vicar and the company you keep //

He never wants to be another Thranduil, never could imagine himself as one. For someone who also was reprimanded for showing his own emotions, it’s a struggle he understands well. Don’t show weakness. And that weakness could be anything from the twitch of one’s face to the clenching of a fist, to letting frustrated and angry tears bloom on one’s face. So they make quite the pair as Sunjata hoists George’s body, as he walks toward the edge amongst the other burial mounds, sets the man down and feels those eyes of Hotaru’s on him like a silent guardian.

He's quick to shift, shedding his half human, half demon form for that of a true dragon. Large talons sweep through the icy, frosted over hard soil, carving a scar into the earth as he puts the dirt off to the side, ensuring that there’s a pile of it to cover the body the second he gets it deep enough the rain of Flowerbirth won’t reveal it. And it doesn’t take long before Sunjata’s placing George’s body into the earth, covering back up with the dirt, ensuring that the ground is hardened again and will hopefully freeze over once more before he can return to her side.

He shifts back into himself, only a sliver of scales acting like a turtleneck with no wings or horns to be seen, hands dark where they’re caked in the dirt from burying the man. “Yes.” He murmurs softly, knowing at this point she won’t care if his hands are dirty, not when she still wears the dried blood from the attacks from earlier. He takes her hand in his again, sharing what warmth he can as he turns away from the blackened earth on the edge of the hidden mounds of flowers.

“Let’s go home and clean up.” He makes the plan for them – the warm shower to wash away the blood and dirt and everything else, where he can sit there and stay wrapped around her to prove to both himself and her that they’re both there, that everything will be fine, to sate the protectiveness within him by proving she’s not going anywhere.

// this is the sin that i will confess to release myself
from consequence and everyone can tell //

SUNJATA

did goodbye mean letting go?

The soil clinging to his hands doesn’t deter her in the least, the blood caked and itchy on her own skin mixing with it in poetic symbolism as he takes her hand in his and pulls her away from the shallow grave.

Nobody bothers them on their way up the stairs to the House, though the door is held for them by the man who had run for Sunjata on Hotaru’s urgent command. Ru doesn’t let her eyes divert from the path directly in front of her, willfully blinding herself to anything but their feet, the stairs, the necessary steps to get them behind closed doors. Even then it’s a bit of a haze until they’re in the bathroom, their snow-drenched, bloodstained, and dirt-smeared clothes crumpling to the floor in wet, shapeless lumps.

Her hands cling to him, pulling him with her into the spray of the shower - hot enough her skin turns pink readily beneath it, needing it just shy of scalding in the vain hopes of scouring the memories from her skin. It stings the cut on her arm and the half-healed stab wound in her side, but it’s merely excess pain to help drown the questions arising through the cotton of shock.

With the water pelting down against her spine and plastering her hair against her skin, she wraps her arms around Sunjata’s waist and huddles between his arms, forehead pressed to his sternum. Here, she can only hear his heartbeat and the steady, rhythmic pour of water over their bodies. She counts the seconds it takes for the water to rinse him clean and make him smell like himself again, free of anything that might inspire recollections of the horror that just transpired. She doesn’t move from there, certain there’s nowhere safer than this small tub, these locked doors, Sunjata’s arms around her. Leaving is an eventuality she can’t even force herself to envision. And all the while, her tongue sticks behind her teeth, feeling robbed of more than just her words.

and did letting go mean forever?
 

HOTARU

// so now you've done a little wrong and you need to be forgiven,
by the vicar and the company you keep //

A low murmured thank you is offered to the man holding the door – the security that had come to Sunjata the second Hotaru needed help. It’s a thank you that goes for many things of tonight unsaid, before words sit muted on his tongue, up to the bedroom and attached bathroom, shedding dirty, blood stained and dirt marred clothes while the shower warms up and Sunjata focuses intensely on remaining within reach of her while he gets everything ready. Her hands cling to him and pull him in, the warmth of the water soothing the cool scarred and tattooed skin, washing away the dirt and the blood that had collected on his body.

He's silent for a while as well, unsure what to say in the face of it, instead letting his hands rise to run through the blonde of her hair, rinsing out the knots and blood and dirt that have collected, before his hands start to run down her back and hips, a lovingly attentive touch while she clings to him, head to his chest, arms around his waist. His entire focus is on making sure she’s cleaned up and safe, removed of any thoughts of George or what has occurred from any physical markers.

And he remains there, using his magic with a free hand to guide the warm streams of water up and around her legs, along her arms in a tender stroke to rid it of the blood, his head pressed down to where his lips can press to the crown of her head. I’m sorry. He murmurs softly as the hot water rakes across her wounds, though it’s unclear if the apology is for the pain he might cause or the pain the night has caused.

// this is the sin that i will confess to release myself
from consequence and everyone can tell //

SUNJATA

did goodbye mean letting go?

His hands in her hair are a comfort she’d know deaf and blind. He always starts a particular way, and his fingers never tangle or pull, even when her hair is knotted from the - no. Not thinking about it. She just wants to keep her eyes closed and feel the way his magic touches her skin, the way he directs the water to cleanse her.

It’s perhaps the most intimate moment she has ever known, and it helps the raw and bleeding edges of her insides dull and clot together, keeping her from falling apart with the gentle force of his attentiveness. His love.

She feels him press a kiss into her hair, and his voice feels like it’s all around her as heat builds behind her eyelids and her shoulders begin to shake in tiny, spasming motions. Still trying even now to exert as much control over her own destruction as possible. I’m not. It comes out the same way one might say ‘I’m fine’. Stubborn, but undeniably false. She doesn’t regret killing George. She regrets having fallen for his charade of kindness.

That’s all this is. Betrayal. And she can’t let herself feel anything else - even if she can’t stop herself from trembling and beginning to cry in quiet, hiccuping sobs against Sunjata’s chest.

and did letting go mean forever?
 

HOTARU

// so now you've done a little wrong and you need to be forgiven,
by the vicar and the company you keep //

She can fall apart here in his arms. In fact, she can fall apart wherever he is so long as she knows that he’ll protect her. He could be the cage that keeps her trapped while she detonates, if that’s what she wants. Or he could be the space that picks the pieces up afterwards. Whichever she chooses, he is here for her. And he will be for however long it takes her to realize that.

His magic works smoothly over her skin, rinsing away the blood and dirt, raking over the not fully healed wounds. His apology is heard, met with the quick response that she isn’t sorry, and all he can do is pulse more love down the attuned bond toward her, focusing every second of his attention to her.

So he draws quiet, a low hum of a song from Korofi rumbling from his throat, nondescript with no lyrics, but a song to fill the sound between the beating water of the shower, as she trembles and breaks against his chest, he’ll hold her there and keep her warm and hum his little songs until she feels put together enough to come to bed where he can keep her warm and safe in his arms.

— FIN <333

// this is the sin that i will confess to release myself
from consequence and everyone can tell //

SUNJATA