fic: on the hill (wc: 8480)
relationships: Jayce Talis/Mel Medarda, Jayce & Mel Medarda, Jayce Talis & Ximena Talis
synopsis: “Look up to the hill and find hope. Find no fear.”
“But what about the blood on my hands?”
“Let me carry it with you”“
The holy and unholy
A bleeding heart and one that’s stopped beating
A missionary!Jayce and vampire!Mel’s chance encounter
When Mel begins to come to, returning to the right pace is a disorienting process. Her mind, body, and environment all moving at staggered paces. Like forcing to fit disjointed pieces of a puzzle together. Either she was moving slower or the world had yet to cease its excessive spinning. Heavy eyelids try to fall, seduced by the tug of a deep, dreamless sleeps one after another weighing her down twenty-fold. Perhaps even more.
Closing her eyes isn't enough to settle the banging ache against the left side of her skull, and her toes and fingers hold a damp chill. A brief wiggle of the appendages prove fruitless in an immediate resolution.
By equally slow breaths and blinks, Mel attempts to wipe away the blurred colors and shapes for something more resolute.
Stone walls and an arched ceiling decorated by tattered drapes as far as she can tell in the moment.
There is soft murmuring tip toeing in the background. Words unintelligible save for a baseline of voices both strong and svelte. A man and woman perhaps is all Mel can identify.
As for who they are and from where they came— those questions hold steady in the way unanswered before her.
Replacing them as her object of attention is a voice: one most familiar cutting through the vague suspicious whispers; a steadying line that properly knew how to give her life through all its ups and downs. Trapped in the lowest of valleys, she clings onto it with all the strength she can muster.
"Mel?" The voice is quiet in trepidation, roughened by dehydration. Once more the voice repeats her name with urgency. "Mel!"
Tilting her head to the sound, her eyes widen with recognition and hope. Relief unraveling a fraction of the weight in her chest. "Kino? …Brother!"
Mel's body is not her own— beyond the inexplicable type of fatigue stubborn to be shaken off, she finds herself held down to a bed of sorts— a stretcher, to be more accurate— limbs pinned down firmly by restraints. At least she can move her head and speak freely. To talk and see her older brother before her. He's seen better days, so too has she. Right now it matters not. At least they are together.
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