Somewhere, someone said that we must accept that love does not always stay and to open the door when it leaves, thanking it for even stopping by.
You deserve no such thanks.
I fell into your life, a mess. You saw my worst and didn’t shy away from it. Instead you were gentle, so gentle with me. I did not sleep much then and you used to stay up with me, lull me to sleep, and then let me rest despite my protests that I didn’t need to, that I was “fine”.
Somewhere in your accidental saving me - from myself, from a heartbreak so severe I did not think I would or could ever recover from - a deep friendship took root. In those first few days, when my heart was a barren field frosted over, you were so gentle, so patient. You checked on me, saw right through my sunny demeanor, could feel my rain clouds and you never shied away.
As days turned to weeks and the frosty field that was my heart began to thaw, you weeded my fields, sowed seeds in what was once rocky terrain. You turned over rocks, each one giving you a little piece of me; with each rock overturned, picked up, given a place, you picked upon my references, bantered back with your own. It did not take long before we developed a language that was uniquely ours, and with it, our friendship sprouted.
Along the way, you surprised me; I did not think that I could ever laugh and mean it again. On too many a quiet night, you proved me wrong; my joyous laughter echoed through the too-quiet house, leaving me breathless, my sides in stitches, and threatening to wake the house up. You always struck strategically: when my laughs subsided to carefully contained giggles, you would crack a well-timed quip that would send me back to breathlessness, as though you were with me, tickling me.
In record time, our friendship blossomed and you became one of my favorite people. Even so, I was not without my defenses. While I worked to mend my patchwork heart, you found holes in my walls, leapt over the rubble and snatched up my bricks and mortar. When I wasn’t looking, you hid them, gave yourself a back door to my heart, and got closer to me than I wanted anyone to be, even you.
You rekindled a fire in my heart’s hearth, settled in, cozied up to me…because I let you. I didn’t have to show you how broken I am, but I did and I believed you accepted me for it. Weeks turned to months, and our friendship blossomed, changed. We slid from just friends, sowing seeds for something that could be more beautiful if we let it. Little did we realize, while we nurtured this new beautiful thing, our friendship began to go awry. Looking back, I cannot pinpoint when our friendship began to wilt, but I know that it wasn’t instantaneous. It was a slow death, drawn out over one thousand well-intended cuts. You wield the scythe, look at me guiltily, but continue to hack and slash like this is the only way. How dare you?
Your betrayal has been two-fold. When I thought you accepted me, you were disarming me of my bricks and mortar, stealing them to fortify your own castle. According to you, nobody can get close to you, know you. You believe yourself a monster, incapable of being loved, undeserving of beautiful things. I like to believe in the twilight hours, under blankets of stars we told secrets to, you let me see who you really are. You aren’t a monster, this I am sure of. I have tried to cure you of your disillusions - a pithy, handwritten note tucked into a carefully chosen book, shared experiences that make me think of you, trinkets from my adventures. You feel undeserving of each, try to convince me so.
I know you aren’t the monster you see yourself as. I want to grab the mirror you’ve held up, forced me to look at and show you the truth, make you see you like I see you. I hate what you’ve done to me, turned me into. I hate that you’ve left me exposed, robbed my castle of its walls while you’ve fortified yours, sequestered yourself away. I hate that every love song reminds me of you, but you act like it’s unrequited. Under the blanket of stars we’ve murmured secrets to, you’ve shown me it’s not. I’ve been Atlas, shouldering this friendship, bleeding out from its innumerable cuts for too long while you shove me away. It is irony that I suffer the same fate I once warned you of, lest you got too close to me. When I warned you, you were thoughtful, said you’d understand; You weren’t supposed to steal my defenses, turn them on me but you did.
I told you what hurt me most and over the last few months, I’ve watched you become each of these things. What started as texts throughout the day and laughter that made my cheeks sting, has ended as one word quips, frustrated sighs, and asking myself if it was worth it. In the moment I believed it was, but hindsight being truesight, you have proved again, and again, and again, that I have been doing all the heavy lifting.
I hate what you have turned me into. You gave me hope, something to hold on to when I was drowning. Where are you now that my meadow has blossomed and I need to harvest the fruits of our labor? Where are you now that I am ready to conquer yours, mine… our demons?
In the depths of a aging warehouse, a Nautolan woman was reading over a few documents she had come across. She was in her own private study within her makeshift base, and she whispered quietly to herself as she carefully read, and reread the same lines over and over again.
Her cybernetic eye twitched as she read through the document in it’s entirety, and she sat herself on a chair near her desk. On the desk was a half-constructed droid of her own design. Yet she was still running into the problem on how to power the damn thing. Reliably at least. Her ideas for it caused ti to eat through power at an intense rate.. So she was currently trying to make a better form of energy conservation for the droid.
“Well that was a bust…” She threw away the datapad with the documents a friend had sent her. “Interesting, but not helpful.. Just random tidbits of old droid models..” She huffed and stared at the droid. She had tried most known methods to get it to work. Old and new, but nothing seemed to work.
She decided to take her attention off from the droid for the moment, and let her gaze wander. The large spacious room she had made into her private workshop was full of various items from across the galaxy. Some from even the Jedi and Sith.. Holocrons, Sith relics, a lightsaber or two, ancient droids, and illegal tech. She had a fascination with all of it.
This was only a small portion of her collection however. A very, very small portion. Much more were scattered across the entire warehouse, and others on her ship. She had always had a fascination with technology, and upon learning of the Sith and Jedi’s advancements she had encountered an entirely new field. It had become a passion of hers to collect, and learn every strange oddity to anything she collected.
Though her heart always remained with droids.. She found their personalities endearing, and what made them tick fascinating. All their individual quirks were unique to them. While some of the same models might have similar problems or advantages, each droid had something about them that made them.. Unique.
She went back to the droid, and tapped her fingers on the desk as she thought.. Many though her crazy with how her passion drove her, but she didn’t understand their points. Did they not feel passionate of art? Of writings? What was so different of hers?
…Though to be honest, perhaps her fascination with synthetic life did sometimes overstep the boundaries at times.. She had on occasion created droids that tried to kill her immediately afterwards. Or befriend droids that didn’t have individuality.
Infact, that last part was something she had been researching, and what she hoped this droid could accomplish. A true individuality within a droid. Many droids developed personalities, and quirks if their memories weren’t wiped. Yet she wanted to create a droid that could develop like a sentient being. A truly intelligent, and free thinking synthetic organism.
“...Come on little guy.. Let’s see if we can’t come up with a way to get you to work.” She hummed, and set herself to work.. She wouldn’t give up that easily. She would see to it that her dreams were made a reality. That droids could be more then just robotic servants, but individual people.
The rain lashes Das'ushi, hurled at the buildings by the shrieking wind. The Singing Sea throws itself over piers and railings and walkways, pulling into itself any cargo unfortunate enough to be left out in the deluge. The shouts of sailors can be heard, carrying through the storm as they race to secure the ships still left in harbor.
Alisi stands at the floor-to-ceiling windows in the formal living room at Skybound; the rain courses down the glass, turning the sprawling city of Das'ushi into a watercolor painting. Even with the lack of definition, she can see movement below, but not the movement she wants to see.
The Bessemer hasn't returned.
They probably saw the storm coming and stayed out of it. Maybe they stayed in port longer. Wherever they are, they're fine.
She presses a hand against the glass, continues to stare out into the maelstrom.
---
The Bessemer does not return.
Pieces of the Bessemer wash up into Das'ushi Harbor three days later. Five of her sailors make it home, bedraggled and stormworn. Alisi meets every one of them, with blankets and broth and a small purse from Skyhawk Shipping to allow them to recover without worrying about taking care of their families.
Kaito Venes does not come home.
---
Alisi goes down to the harbor every day for a month, sitting cross-legged atop a pile of crates. Heedless of the whispers about her persistence, about the haunted look in her eyes, she scans the faces that pass on the crowded boardwalk with an intensity that drives people to give her a wide berth.
Kaito is not among them.
---
Six months after the memorial for the Lost of the Bessemer, claimed by the Sea Herself for reasons that will remain inscrutable to survivors, Alisi still gets up in the morning and takes her rowboat out to Brimrose Islet. She settles herself into the chair she brought out there, watching the horizon.
One afternoon, upon her return, her mother meets her at the door.
"No more of this, Alisi."
"No more of what?" Alisi asks, looking over her shoulder at the harbor, washed in oranges and purples by the setting sun.
"Kaito is gone, little zephyr." This catches Alisi's attention; her mother hasn't called her little zephyr in years. "It's awful, it is." Andere Skyhawk lost her husband in the storm that heralded Alisi's arrival, twenty years past. In fact, that storm still retains the title of worst in memory; the storm that claimed the Bessemer claimed only the Bessemer, while the storm that claimed Calwin Skyhawk thoroughly wrecked Das'ushi Harbor and fully a quarter of the fleet of Skyhawk Shipping. The only thing that saved Andere from financial ruin was that the storm also decimated her competition, downsizing all of them in one fell swoop.
She takes Alisi's hands, pulls her into an embrace. "But this is not healthy. I know that Nalise and Fiona are going to be down at the Bouncing Jellyfish this evening. I want you to go, get out of this house, and spend some time with them. They come up here asking for you every day. People in town are starting to talk about you. I'm not going to let you let your life waste away."
"And what if he comes back when I'm not there?" Alisi says, a crack in her voice. "Then what? What will he think, seeing I gave up so easily?"
Andere blinks tears out of her gray eyes. "I knew Kaito -"
"Know."
"He is gone," Andere says again, fiercely, not softening her words even when Alisi winces. "And if I know anything about him, I know he would not have wanted you to throw your whole life away sitting there waiting for him." She pulls a coin purse out of her pocket, puts it in Alisi's hand, and closes her daughter's fingers over it. "Go get ready, and figure out some way to have fun tonight."
---
The crowd at the Bouncing Jellyfish can be heard down the block. Light pours out of every window on the two-story building; music and laughter spill out into the crisp night air. Alisi pauses two buildings down, hand still wrapped around the coin purse in her pocket. No doubt Nalise and Fiona are already at a table covered in glasses, likely entertaining a small group of hangers-on hoping to possibly take one of the two to bed.
She just can't do it.
Pasting on a strained smile at Orlan, the Bouncing Jellyfish's perennial bouncer, she walks right past the tavern and out toward the harbor. At this late hour, the harbor is deserted; everyone else is up in town enjoying everything that Das'ushi has to offer. The last thing Alisi needs, though, is someone from Skyhawk Shipping to see her and tell her mother, so she walks all the way out past where the boardwalk ends, feet sinking into the sand as she leaves the lights of Das'ushi behind her.
When the sounds of the city have faded, she makes her way down to where the tide meets the sand, sitting down and stretching her feet out to meet the lapping water, mind drifting, as it does too often, to what it must have been like on those last days.
Kaito had loved the sea, had never considered being anything other than a sailor, and when he'd been selected for the Bessemer, it had been the best day of his life.
"Second best," he always said, "just after the day that Alisi said she'd marry me."
For the first time since those pieces of the Bessemer washed up into the harbor, she feels angry.
Incandescently, incomprehensibly, angry.
"How could you leave me?" she shrieks toward the constant, uncaring ocean. "We were supposed to get married after this trip, and Kolt could make it home and you couldn't? That useless gasbag that everyone called dead weight made it home and you didn't? You said you loved me!"
Alisi yanks the sparkling diamond and sapphire ring off her finger and stands, hurling it into the dark water. "Well, if you loved me you would have come home!"
The ring lands with a distant plink.
The antipathy drains off Alisi's face, immediately replaced by horror. She flings herself into the water, making for the approximate place she thinks she saw moonlight catch the ring just before the ocean swallowed it. She takes a deep breath, goes under, scrabbles around in the silt and sand and rocks, surfaces when she doesn't find anything.
"Hey!" comes a voice from somewhere behind her. "You can't be fucking around in the ocean this late in the season! You're gonna freeze to death out there!"
"So?" she immediately snaps, not even looking back at however decided to put his nose in her business.
There's a muttered curse, and then splashing. "I'm not going to sit here and just let you die." A callused hand closes around Alisi's hand when she can't get away fast enough, hauling her back toward the shore. "Now we're both gonna freeze to death, I guess. Fuck, that water is cold. What were you doing out there?"
"My shoes are dry," Alisi says, nonsensically.
"Well, that's helpful." He pats his pockets, extracts a flask. "Look, have some of this, and we'll figure out how to get warm. Do you live close?"
She all but snatches the flask out of his hands, tipping it high. "No," she finally manages to say through chattering teeth. "Other side of town."
"I live here in Harborside. Let's build a fire, get warm, and then I'll make sure you get home."
---
Upon turning on his lights and building a fire, Wentworth Alston - recently promoted to captain of the Nysaia, fourth largest ship in the Skyhawk Shipping fleet - discovers that the yowling, bedraggled animal he'd hauled out of the ocean (and who had subsequently drained his favorite flask of his favorite rum like it was nothing more than water) is a beautiful woman with black and silver hair and haunted, storm blue eyes. She appraises him in the firelight, practically talking herself into a bad decision right in front of him.
He should stop her.
He does nothing to stop her.
Excusing himself momentarily, he rummages through his clothes for a thick flannel shirt and a pair of trousers; they'll be comically large on her, but at least they're not soaked through like her dress and underskirts. He does the proper thing, of course, and turns around while she changes. (And if he can sort of see her reflected in the glass bottle on the shelf in front of him, that isn't his fault, is it?)
She eschews the trousers, since the flannel shirt already falls to mid thigh, and plucks a blanket off of his couch to cover her legs with, settling in on the plush fur rug in front of his fireplace.
He pulls out his favorite rum from Last Bastion, rich and caramel with a faint hint of vanilla, the smoothest he's found anywhere in 15 years of sailing, and they pass the bottle back and forth, leaning against each other in companionable silence, basking in the heat.
"So why were you throwing yourself at the ocean?" he finally asks, when it's been long enough that her hair is mostly dry. It's too personal a question, and he doesn't expect her to answer it.
She plucks the bottle out of his hand, takes the sort of drink Wentworth normally only sees from old-salt sailors who may be more fish than person. "My fiance died. On the Bessemer."
"Ah." What else is there to say that doesn't sound trite, that isn't something she's heard a hundred times?
"And I think it's shit that he went and did that," she continues, the anger blazing to life again, even as tears roll down her cheeks. Another drink. "I threw my ring in the ocean. And then I wanted it back. And then I just kind of wanted to die, wanted to know what he went through. To be swallowed by the ocean, to never have to deal with this again, to not have to wake up every single day and know that he's gone and never coming back but also feeling like I'm wrong for thinking that, having so much guilt for just wanting it to be over that I feel like I might explode with having to keep it all in, and I don't know what to do about it anymore and I just want it over."
She tosses the now-empty bottle aside, has her leg over him and is settling into his lap before he fully realizes what she's doing, carding her fingers into his hair as she presses her rum-drenched mouth to his, the muffled sound coming from her mouth caught somewhere between pleasure and sobbing.
Wentworth Alston does not have many rules in life, but do not sleep with a woman who is crying, especially one who is crying over a dead ex has got to be on the shortlist.
There is no way this ends well for anyone. Either she wakes up tomorrow and regrets it and hates him, he wakes up tomorrow and regrets it and hates himself, or he wakes up tomorrow with a new clingy girl he won't be able to shake until his next trip to Bronzeport. But her hands, her mouth, her tongue, the weight of her, none of it can be ignored, and even though he knows this is a bad idea, knows that this is exactly the sort of woman you don't get involved with, he wraps one arm around her with a groan, pulls her body more fully against his own, fingers pausing on the buttons of his own damn shirt as he gives her an inquiring look.
"Please," she says, resting her hands on top of his as he begins to undo buttons with painful slowness, revealing more tanned skin with each one slipped free. With the last, he slides the shirt off her shoulders, leaning forward to kiss first her collarbone, then the curve of her neck, her jawline, and finally her mouth.
"Are you sure?" he asks, ridiculous given that she's all but shirtless and her hands are in his hair and his own are cupping her perfect breasts.
She is polite enough - or distracted enough - to answer seriously, rather than rightfully mocking his idiotic inquiry. "Yes."
Maybe she should have asked his name before flinging herself into his lap, but at this point Alisi does not care what his name is. Thick black hair, the chiseled physique of a long-time sailor - covered in tattoos, though she can still see a few blank spots on the canvas - and a mouth that very much needs to be kissed. She wasn't expecting the immediate tidal wave of lust when she finally got a good look at him, one that was only a little tamped down when she decided to word-vomit all her feelings about Kaito at him, and really - she wouldn't tell him this but he could have been anyone after that, she just needs a distraction and he is there and warm and willing.
Clearly willing, apparently, and very equipped for the job.
She rolls her hips, pleased when he bites back a moan, a slow smile curving his lips as he catches her eye. Gods, his smile is a thing of beauty, and suddenly Alisi wants (almost) nothing more than to see it again. She runs a hand along his jaw, through the stubble, and up into his hair, arching her back as his thumbs brush over her nipples. "I - ah, gods." She struggles to find a coherent thread of thought. "You never did tell me your name."
He makes a distracted hmm noise; one hand slips from her breast to the small of her back, holding her in place while he unfastens his trousers with the other. Her hand - more callused than he had been expecting from her - wraps around his cock, and his eyes flutter closed, luxuriating in the sensation, grasping to remember what she'd said not 30 seconds ago. "You never asked. Or told me -" He bites back a groan. "You didn't tell me yours, either."
She rises up on her knees, positioning herself over him, and he knows he should care more about her name but right now it is a very distant second to caring about how long she's going to make him wait before she finally sinks fully onto his lap. Her breasts are, quite conveniently, at mouth level, and it is a simple thing to lean forward to tease first one nipple, then the other, with his tongue.
"It's -" She inhales sharply, breathing shallow. "It's Alisi."
"Alisi," he repeats, as though familiarizing himself with the feeling of her name in his mouth. "It is indeed a pleasure to meet you. Mine is -"
She sinks onto his cock - just a bit - with a wicked gleam in her eye, grinning when he fumbles his words. "Sorry, you were saying?"
This one is trouble … so much trouble.
He opens his mouth again and that minx fully seats herself on his lap as he does; his name comes out of his own damn mouth more like a moan than an introduction, but he'll have to think about how he feels about that later. Right now, he has no thoughts in his head that don't have to do with her.
She bites her lip, rocking her hips. "Mmm. Wentworth. I like that."
The way she wraps her mouth around his name, savors it, makes his mouth dry. He hopes she isn't looking for something prolonged because that is rapidly becoming an unattainable goal. Shifting his hand to the best angle to reverse their position, he gives her an inquiring look. May as well just fucking ask her. "I am normally more suave than this," he says, "and whatever story you tell about this later, please just lie and say that I was, but, ah -" He thrusts upward, waiting for her breath to catch - which it does, of course. "I am more than happy to skip the foreplay if you are, Alisi."
"This time, yeah," she says, breathless. "Make it up to me next time."
Are there any better words than next time? He doesn't think so. "I will worship you in every way you deserve." In one smooth motion, he rocks her backward and settles on top of her. "After this. When I can think straight."
---
I'll get you home, he'd said, upon pulling Alisi out of the ocean. Turns out he'd lied.
Sunlight streams through his windows as Wentworth regains consciousness - and along with it, awareness of how aches and pains have set in after a much longer night drinking and fucking than he's had in quite some time. As a captain - and as a first mate before that - it's his duty to be the more mature member of the crew, letting the younger sailors get all of these shenanigans out of their system before they end up in positions of more responsibility.
Instead, he polished off two bottles of very fine rum and got his leg over Alisi on pretty much every available surface in his house.
Speaking of Alisi ….
Still under the covers, she shifts next to him on the bed, draping one bare leg over his own. She murmurs something he can't quite understand, and he can't help but reach out and comb his fingers through her truly epic case of post-sex hair.
"Mmm," she murmurs, still mostly asleep. "Wentworth."
This comes out more like W'w'rth, and should not have the effect on him that it does. He should be waking her up - gently, he's not a monster - and helping her find her clothes, and helping her out his door before the rest of Harborside wakes up, because once it does there is no getting her out of here without people noticing. "Alisi." He kisses first one corner of her mouth, then the other, waiting for those blue eyes to open, momentarily losing his train of thought when they do and she gives him a sleep-softened smile. "Hey. I don't know if you want every sailor in the harbor knowing you stayed here last night, but if you don't, you're gonna need to get up."
She burrows farther into the blankets, presses the full length of her warm, soft body against his own. "Please let me stay. I don't want to be alone."
This is not ideal.
What is even less ideal is his own traitorous body responding immediately to her touch, and the fact that he knows he's going to let her stay before he even opens his mouth. After all, he doesn't have to be at the Nysaia until tomorrow morning, and he has no need to venture to the market today. He can quite comfortably stay ensconced in this bed with this woman all day long, with only minor detours for food and water (and probably alcohol).
He stretches out an arm, waits until she pillows her head on his chest, and pulls the blanket around the two of them. "I need to practice saying no to you."
I hope one day, you finally believe you deserve the love you’re running from right now.
You deserve a love that acknowledges your past, but wants to live in the present and for the future with you. A love that understands you have your back, but wants to have it too. Someone who knows you act infallible, but everybody needs somebody, yes even you. You deserve a love that is soft and warm, like their smile when they tell you for the umpteenth time they want to do the little things for you and they know they don’t have to.
You deserve a love that sees you like you see through everyone else. A love that, when you’re ready for it, wants to be close enough to know more than your favorite time of day and your favorite color. They want to know why you game with the headset half off, and what keeps you up in the morning - and promises to still love you for it because they know life hasn’t been kind to you. You deserve a love with kind eyes and warm smiles, who will wordlessly spider monkey on your back after a long day, skilled fingers finding those stress points and easing them gently to help you unwind. A love that will sweep fingers through your hair while you fall asleep and stays up to keep watch while you rest. You deserve a love that is gentle in its absence, “I was thinking of you” as they recount stories from adventures and hand over small gifts because they know you don’t like gifts, but secretly love them.
You deserve a love that catches your references and banters back with their own. A love that is eager to find your unique language and speak it with you as though they were born to do so. Someone who stays up with you in the morning, when the world is still a little too dark, and a little too cold. Whose smile can light up the darkest corners of your soul and keep the demons at bay until sunrise. You deserve a love that is more than pretty words, but kind actions and the promise that they will stand with you as long as you will have them.
In short, you deserve the love that you have been giving, and giving, and giving, but are too scared to receive. A love that sees your rough exterior but refuses to give up on you because you’re worth it. You deserve a love that makes you understand that you don’t have to go it alone, because sometimes, even the baker needs to baked for… and that’s okay.
Because covering my right arm in tattoos to heal the damage we did isn’t enough.
Because the pain was temporary, but the emptiness is real, indelible, like the mark you left on my life.
Because tomorrow could be the end of the world; a meteor could strike, California could fall off the map, Florida too.
Because it has been 371 days since your lips have crushed into mine. All of those lies about “I don’t remember the last time we kissed” were just so I could feign being cool girl, aloof girl.
Because I’m tired of being cool girl (remember that time you called my bluff about Bebop?)
Because I’m tired of being aloof girl (I’m tired of acting like I don’t care just so a man will love me)
Because I want to kiss someone who understands my jokes, my references and isn’t tired of them.
Because I want to run my fingers through your hair at dusk, wake up next to you again at dawn. One last time.
Because I want the world to stop. Your hand on my cheek makes me forget about everything else in 30 second intervals and I need a little more of that.
Because in the roughly 1,725 or so days that we spent together, I didn’t tell you enough to kiss me.
Because it was supposed to be you and me against the world; yet it became you versus me, versus the world.
Because if I’m being honest, if I could take back everything, I would want to start with a kiss.
When it comes to Greek mythology, I have a few favorite tales: The Taking of Persephone, Echo and Narcissus, the story of Medusa, and finally Orpheus. Each offers their own lesson, which I won’t get into here, but if I’m being honest, I have always scoffed at Orpheus.
If you’re unfamiliar, Orpheus was pretty much a bard before bards were a thing and according to legend did some pretty cool stuff before he settled down and married his wife Eurydice. As with all (most) Greek myths, she died, and overcome with grief, Orpheus ventured to the underworld to strike a deal with Hades and Persephone to have her returned to him. If you’ve ever been in love, truly in love, you would probably do the same thing. Anyway, Hades and Persephone agreed - but on the way out of the underworld, Orpheus can’t look back at Eurydice lest she die again. Spoilers, he looked back, and so she died again.
Until recently, I used to call Orpheus weak for his inability to trust in his wife being right behind him. I didn’t understand it’s not that simple. When you see me out after our late night trysts, I always bid you goodbye, pressing a V shaped pair of fingers to my cheek, pouting my lips at you - a grin breaking over my face when I tell you to have your people contact my people. Then I turn, and as the year has gone on, and I am no longer greeted by the violet dusk that used to envelope me like an ethereal dream, but now eternal sunshine and I am thankful for my tortoise rimmed oversized sunglasses. It is this moment, when I am painted in sunshine with my back to you, that the smile slips from my lips, the bravado melts from my form and with each tentative step I take down the hallway, disappearing into the afternoon horizon, I want to turn back. Until recently, I didn’t have to murmur to myself “never, ever look back” when I reach the steps and almost hesitate.
Are you still standing there? Is it the old adage that you hate to see me go but love to watch me leave? I’ll never know because I’ve never looked back, but Gods I want to. I want to see the late afternoon’s rays find your dark brown eyes, want to watch them turn into honeyed amber pools. I want to know what it is like to spend dusk with you, not just the twilight hours under inky stars that are privy to our secrets. I want a love like our friendship: easygoing, warm, uniquely ours. But for now, I will settle for those late night drives, the windows down, chasing the moon with wind in my hair. I will settle for half remembered nights and quietly leaving while you sleep. Because unlike Orpheus, I have the resolve to keep going and never, ever look back.
HELLO! I am SUPER excited for this one! This one invovles a character of mine I love to death, and a bit of lore for them! This is a Final Fantasy XIV character, so I hope you enjoy!
As before, Valei belongs to @shard628
Levai awakened in what appeared to be an unending. They weren’t falling, but their body also had no perch either. They tried to recall what was happening.. They remember fighting.. A Voidsent? A queen.. They had won, but their victory was short.. Diabolos, another Voidsent had..
Levai’s mind immediately began to panic. Why were they here? They needed to get back. Their friends were-
“Your friends will fare fine, mortal.” A voice rang out. Levai quickly shifted their body to find the one who spoke. “You however…” The voice hummed as the darkness seemed to coalesce together into a solid form. A familiar being with porcelain skin, and abyss like eyes.
“I am surprised.. I had thought your soul would surely fall into oblivion.” Scathach spoke, and Levai quickly moved away. The Voidsent staring at them with a harsh intensity. “Well.. no matter.. Your soul will still be mine.. And your body shall be a suitable vessel.”
Levai immediately tensed up, and glared at Scathach.. The Voidsent Queen stepped closer to Levai. Her hand however started to burn, and she quickly reeled back, hissing.. A light blue aura wrapping around Levai. Levai stared at Scathach, confused.. Yet it dawned on them as they realized what had happened.
“..You can’t claim my soul.. You’re too weak..” Scathach hissed. Her eyes burned with blackened flames. Her teeth slowly revealed themselves as fangs. However Levai stared at the weakened demon, and stood up tall. “..Diabolos took your powers.. But you thought you could take my body.. So you shed them to hide yourself here.”
“Silence, mortal!” She screeched and lunged forward at Levai. Yet as she tried to grab him, she quickly had to force herself back. Her body was searing hot, and the burns quickly healed as she moved away. She growled, and glared.. Yet what else could she do?
“Damn that traitor..! Damn you Diabolos..! How could he have stolen my powers?! A wretch like him!?” She roared, and her ‘wings’ slowly manifested. She began to thrash about… Levai watched as the Voidsent he had just fought, and bested, was now reduced to something similar to a petulant child. “I worked over the centuries to gain my power..! And he takes it all..! I will rip that miserable little pile of flesh to PIECES!”
“Now I cannot even take the soul of a single MORTAL!” She hissed, and turned back to Levai. Her face was now covered in a tar-like substance. “Damn you! Damn him! I was so close… So close to freedom…”
Levai watched as Scathach slowly returned to her previous state. Her wings retracted back into her body, and the black substance dripped away. Her body trembled with frustration and hate. “I am stuck here now.. Aren’t I? I had thought you to be a simple Adventurer.. One I could control. No. You are her chosen. Damned crystal…”
“...You wish to be free?” Levai asked, and Scathach stared at him.
“Yes… I was imprisoned for so long in that damned coffin. Now I am imprisoned once more… You will awaken soon, and I will be trapped here in your soul.” She scoffed, and crossed her arms as she turned away. “I shouldn’t have trusted that fool.. To think I believed he wished to submit to my will.”
“...Perhaps we can help each other then..” Levai continued, “You help me.. And I will allow you some control.”
Scathach stared.. Bewildered. “...You offer your body as my vessel? Willingly?”
“No.. I offer you to see the world through me. I’ll be in control.. But you’ll share my body with me.. And in return, you give me some of your remaining strength..” As they spoke, Scathach turned to face him fully. “...And we defeat Diabolos. Together.”
“...” She pondered for a moment.. IT was clear she was hesitant. “...You offer your body for me… You know once my strength returns, I could take your soul and body for myself, yes?”
“Oh I know.. But I think I’m strong enough to stop you if you try.. Yet right now, we need each other. I need you to stop Diabolos.. And you need me to be free.” Levai smirked.. Scathach couldn’t help but admire their bravado.
“So.. Do we have a deal?” Levai held out their hand, and smiled. Scathach watched them for a moment.. Then another. Slowly, a smile crept across her face.
“...By my blood, shall this contract be bound.. And until it is complete, shall we be forever linked. Souls intertwined..” Scathach spoke, grabbing onto Levai’s hand. The black tar then slid from her arm to Levai, wrapping around their arm and then slowly coiled around their body. “We are now bound… Levai Qestir, until the deal is complete.”
“So… let us see to the traitor.” Scathach finished, her eyes glowing.. Changing from the deep abyss, to the blue and purple of Levai’s.
“Indeed, Lady Scathach.” Levai spoke, their eyes shifting to a darker tone. Their normal pupils switch to a slit-like pupil.
In the darkest night, a group of adventurers stood in front of their fallen comrade. Having seen a wisp of aether fly into their body.. Valei standing close, using her Nouliths to hold up a barrier. Niandra took the front with her gunblade. The blindfold for her eyes having flown off from the howling winds.
In the sky ahead of them was the Voidsent Diabolos.. Empowered by the strength of the Void Queen. Now his powers were enhanced beyond their normal limitations. He let out a soft chuckle, and stared at the group as he hovered above the ground. His once torn and tattered wings now mended..
“Ah… So you yet stand to defy me? How humorous.” Diabolos chuckled once more. “You believe yourselves capable of besting me? I have partook of the unfathomable power of the Void’s most ancient mistress.. Though I must say, I admire your persistence, mortals.
As Diabolos chuckled, Valei felt something shift.. And as she turned she let out a gasp. Seeing Levai stand, their staff in their hand. “Levai-”
She was cut off as Levai stepped past her.. And she took a deep breath. Seeing the former pitch black scales that wrapped around Levai’s neck shift to a deep purple. The same was said for their horns. Niandra turned, but was forced to step aside as Levai pushed past her.
“Hm..?” Diabolos stared at the mortal. “Ah.. I had thought Scathach struck you down as a final vain act of defiance. A pity.. You’ll now have to endure the same nightmares as your comrades. He reached out.. But paused. Levai had looked up.. And he saw one of the eyes of the Viera was a deep purple.. But the other was a pitch black abyss.
“You have overstepped Diabolos..” Levai said.
“...But now.” Another voice spoke, but not Levai’s. From their lower back, the wings of Scathach shot out, and slowly wrapped around Levai. Acting as a shield for their body.
“You will answer for your treason… By both Queen and Mortal.” Both Levai and Scathach spoke in unison. Staring at the traitorous demon with a deep hatred.
There is controlled loneliness in being the one to drive myself to the airport, park my car, anonymous against a hundred others in the spiraling garage, is comforting. It gives me something to focus on, determination leaking from my shoes with each wavering step. To drive myself to the airport is to avoid goodbyes, which I suck at because my heart is too tender.
I have shared beers, stories, and kissed strangers in airports, knowing I will never see them again. Airports are like hotels to me: transient. I still remember the stranger with the pink hair, who tasted like tart apple and spearmint. He held my face tenderly while he kissed me, perhaps the best kiss I have experienced, yet I didn’t give him my actual name and don’t remember his.
How does that song go?
From Phoenix, Arizona
All the way to Tacoma
Philadelphia, Atlanta, L.A.
Northern California
I have fallen asleep in one city, only to wake up in another, a new time zone, a new soft beginning, too many times to count.
My favorite route is the one that ends with me tucked into a car, squished next to my backpack, my mom or one of my sister’s behind the wheel. Finally, after months the stress truly melts from my shoulders and invariably, even though I slept on the plane, I actually sleep because I am home.
When it is time to leave I am thankful for oversized sunglasses even on cloudy days because the tears rolling down my cheeks are nothing a mother should have to see.
The controlled loneliness of walking into the terminal and not looking back. Of knowing that unlike here, nobody is waiting for me past security when I get back. One day if I am so lucky, romantic love will be there, waiting to sweep me off my feet, kiss me tenderly, tuck the curls behind my ear and away from my tired face.
But for now, it is me and my suitcase. Satchmo along for the ride in my backpack.
