milliways_bar | (no subject)

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rae "sunshine" seddon

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Sunshine is still faintly steaming from her shower when she steps in, her sky blue and lime green pajama top damp where her wet hair has dripped. She almost shuts the door rather than step through, but the awareness of the coming morning is already sitting like a stone in her stomach, and that keeps her from turning back. She shuts the door quietly behind her with hands scrubbed pink, where they are not darkened with bruises or scraped raw.

Rae wanders vaguely towards the couch nearest the fireplace, but she sees through the window that there is still some daylight left here, and it is too much to resist.

Exhausted as she is, there's no way she's going to be able to sleep any time soon. Sunshine walks right through the bar to the door outside, and goes through into what's left of the late afternoon sunlight. Nearly sunset, and it's going to be a gorgeous one. It is light, and motion, and color, and the new green grass is soft and clean under her bare feet. It may not be much, but it is so much better than being left in the dark with just the sound of her thoughts echoing in her own head in the dead hours of night.

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Just on dusk there's a flash of gold light from the forest, about where a white-barked ash tree stands out amongst the greenery.

A few minutes later, Sinric comes storming out of the treeline and towards the bar, gold light trailing after him like wings. His tunic is torn around the sleeves and hem as he tries to untangle himself from a briar of deeply fragrant pink roses. Even as he untangles himself, more seem to grow.

Edited 2019-04-25 13:51 (UTC)

Sunshine is surprised by the flash, startled by Sinric's sudden appearance afterwards. She doesn't rightly know how suited she is to being around people, at the moment, but he is something to focus on that isn't immediately distressing, something to orient herself around.

He looks....

"Sinric, are you all right?" she asks, approaching. Her voice is still rough, like from shouting or hard weeping. Where were those roses coming from?

He winces and tries to unwind a rose as it curls up his arm. "Trickster gods." he mutters darkly. Up close, Rae might be able to see that the roses are growing from the embroidered trim of Sinric's tunic. Stylistic roses becoming real.

His hands are covered in small cuts from the thorns. "I think I can stop them. I just need to centre myself."

"Shiva wept," she breathes, trying to help Sinric rid himself of the roses. Rae can't quite stifle a hiss between her teeth as thorns catch her already-reddened hands. "... Whose attention did you catch?"

So often that's all it takes, with trickster gods.

Sinric reaches to still her hands. "You're in enough pain, my friend. Don't hurt yourself on my account."

The roses seem to slow, no longer growing but still fragrant and lovely in the failing light. "Mercury, I believe. I'm not even sure he meant to do it."

"Gods are dangerous whether they mean to be or not," Rae murmurs, still seeking to help though with more care than haste now. The roses are lovely, just the kind of thing a god might seek to adorn beauty with, without the understanding of thorns and skin and freedom of movement. "Or so every last story of them suggests. Even the nice ones."

The remark is faintly wry, but there is a bitter edge to it. She is tired, and has had more than enough of powerful beings being a danger to humans to last a lifetime.

"So my experience with them bears out." he carefully breaks off another rose, setting it aside. They'll be lovely in a vase. "I suspect he was lonely, the young man I was dancing with. I fear the light of magic I was hiding drew him to me."

With her help, he shakes the last of them off, arms red with scratches. "Thank you for your help. May I repay your kindness with some tea? After we have cleansed out hands. I don't know about yours but mine are stinging sharply."

"My hands are..." her words falter as she glances at the scratched and scraped and scrubbed hands holding a few of the roses oh-so-carefully by the stems. "They're still attached, and functional."

Some nights, it's the best she can do. Rae doesn't know if she'll ever truly be free of the insidious, recurring idea that her hands are foreign to her, are corrupt, are poisoned, are treacherous and dangerous and not of her in some way.

She knows it's just an idea. But it's... a hard one to dispel.

"Tea would be great," she nods, offering a wan smile that doesn't last long on tired lips. "Loneliness is one thing. Mercury is also the god of travelers. That affinity may have played some part in the... misunderstanding."

"We might be well suited, he and I. If it won't for the time and place." he gathers up the fallen roses and offer her his arm. Which is almost comical given he's a head shorter than her. "Rome is no longer a city of gods and magic. But of one god and his grey austerity."

He heads for the kitchen, setting the roses aside as he runs the water crisp and cool. He whispers something under his breath, the water pooling in the sink shimmers gold, as if reflecting sunlight.

Rae takes Sinric's offered arm as they walk together, but... gingerly, in a way that minimizes the contact between her hand and his arm. Perhaps because of the hurt to her hand. Perhaps not.

"A fading god desperate for a believer?" she murmurs, one of the roses held up lightly so she can see the play of shadow across its velvety petals. The light from the sink of water catches her attention, though, and she looks over. "What magic is that?"

Her Dark Sight can only tell her so much.

"Perhaps. Or a lonely one hungry for the light he's not seen for some time. Like a man grown deaf heading music again."

He plunges his hands into the sink with a sigh, soaking up to his elbows. "The magic is mine. I still can't heal but the water of my time is not always clean or free of disease. I've leant ways to make it pure so wounds washed in it won't fester." He smiles to her. "You inspired me. The cleansing gifts of sunlight."

A faint smile pulls at the corners of her mouth in return. "Clean of live things."

It sounds almost like she's quoting something.

"I'm glad you've found a way of safeguarding against infection like that, and to be part of its inspiration. If I may wash my hands as well, I could heal your scratches. I... really should take care of these soon, anyway," she nods to the scrapes and tears adorning her hands. "I would've seen to them earlier, but sometimes the... sting of it is grounding, when focus is important."

(ooc: Gotta crash for the night! Is slowtime all right? *snugz Sinric*)

"Just so." Sinric nods and lets the golden water drip down his fingers, stepping aside to give Rae room. "I have been very fortunate in the friends I have found here. In the inspiration and assistance I have had. It's humbling how lucky I have been."

He nods to the water in the sink, the pink tinge of his own blood vanishing in a swirl of gold, making the water clean again.

"Rae, my friend? Is there something you wish to talk about?" He asks softly.

{ooc: sleep well and thank you. Hugs to Rae too!}

"What is there to say?" The rose is set aside as Sunshine steps over to the sink, slowly lowering her hands into the gleaming water as if half-expecting the idea that haunts her hands to cloud the water's sheen like ink.

She focuses on the faint sting of the water against her cuts and scrapes, letting it bring her back to herself.

"Vampires are stronger and faster than humans, and they are ruthless when they wish to cause harm," she murmurs. She focuses for a moment to heal the superficial injuries to her hands, feeling the sting fade.

"It was a bad night," she concludes, feeling sharply the inadequacy of the phrase to sum up tonight's experiences. Those people deserve better than that.

The water has a brief astringent sting but it passes with a clean, coolness.

Sinric busies himself making tea, his arms still red with scratches and he measure dried apple and dark sugar into a silver pot. "It may have been bad but you're here. And for that I'm very glad."

Sunshine looks at her hands through the shining water for a long moment, and does not remark on any gladness at being anywhere.

Lifting her hands from the water, she dries them on a nearby hand towel as she has done any number of times in this kitchen, and steps over to help preparing the tea. The kettle needs filling and time to boil.

Her fingers find the back of Sinric's hand as they work, gently touching the scratched skin. There is warmth passed through the touch, an easing of tension, an awareness of gradual change like the passing of cloud shadow from in front of the sun. The scratches close easily, leaving unbroken, unblemished skin behind them.

It is a gentle magic, warming, heartening and clean in ways Sunshine is too aware her magic sometimes isn't.

"Their hostages were already dead when I got there," she murmurs, nearly toneless. "Intellectually, I know there was nothing I could have done to save them."

But knowing it doesn't really help either her or them. They are still dead. Horrifically dead. And she will still have to endure learning their names on the morning news, and smile as she brings cinnamon rolls and muffins to the front counter of the coffeehouse, as though all were well.

Sinric sighs warmly, letting his eyes slip closed as her touch heals. "Your gift is such a kindness. I wish I could learn it."

He listens quietly as he prepares the tea, letting the dried apple steep. "It is hard not imagine how different the patterns might be, had your thread been woven in a different way. I understand."

A small, unhappy smile flickers on her face. "It is hard not to imagine how things could have been different, plagued by 'what if's and 'if only's."

"Can I share something with you? A trick a friend taught me to help when I found myself trapped in that whirlpool."

He shifts to hold her eye. "Tell me five things in this room you find beautiful?"

Pulling her awareness from the too-vivid memory of broken bodies is like trying to will her heart not to beat.

"Um..." She'll try, but... really what counts as beautiful when there is such ugliness in the world?

"The roses. Even if they were made from magic and have never touched soil. They smell nice, and I... enjoy the velvety texture of their petals."

Dry and soft: nothing like blood, despite their color.

Edited 2019-04-30 00:38 (UTC)

"Good." Sinric smiles. "Another? Sight or smell or taste. Share with me something you find joy in."

This is difficult. Like describing things that affect someone else, it is hard to muster up enthusiasm.

"Um..." she says, looking around. "The, ah, big cast iron skillet hanging there. It is pleasing because it's so well seasoned that nothing ever sticks. Like, ever. And... if you look into it with the light behind you... it's like you're looking into a deep well - you can see your silhouette reflected in it like on the surface of distant, dark water."

Rae had always liked the thought that if she ever had the gift of foresight, she'd be able to See in something like the shine of light on well-seasoned cast iron.

Edited 2019-04-30 00:53 (UTC)

"I've never noticed that. What a wonderful image. Tell me about the spices? What's your favourite?"

"I have to choose?" She murmurs, dry, as though what he asks is an impossible task.

"They all bring their own value to a dish. I suppose cinnamon would have to be a favorite. It's been my globenet screen name since I first got an account... Though I do love that grains of paradise are the answer to the secret of my apple pie that no one can figure out."

Rae glances at Sinric. "I trust you'll guard the secret well."

"I'll protect your secret." he bows with playful solemnity. "What are grains of paradise? I don't know that spice."

"Grains of paradise are the seed pods of a plant in the ginger family, related to cardamom, I think," she replies. "...I first heard of it as 'alligator pepper' when I was a child, and couldn't wait to try it."

"They have a flavor like... citrus-y black pepper. Slightly warm with spiciness, but with that dry acidic bite of citrus."

"They sound fascinating." He pours the tea, folding a napkin around the glass cups with a practised flourish. "Do you know where they're from? And are there some here I might see?"

"From western Africa, originally, if I remember correctly," she murmurs, stepping towards the spice cabinet to fetch some.

Intellectually, Sunshine knows Sinric is seeking to distract her, but part of her wants it to work. She desperately wants to retreat from the hurt that the night has given her, to be Sunshine, cinnamon roll queen, again. But part of her also is resistant, feeling that hurt is the proper reaction, as though hurt is owed to that family, in insufficient apology for not being there sooner, not being there for them, not being able to save them.

She almost can't make herself pick up then little bottle of whole grains of paradise, but the cool, smooth container is cold and hard and dry against her fingers, and her mind doesn't rebel against the sensation. Pouring some out into her palm for Sinric to see, however, is beyond her. Instead, she unscrews the cap and holds out the bottle of whole spices for Sinric to take so he might see for himself.

"I've never been that far south and west." He takes a pinch of the little grains and rolls them lightly between his fingers, breathing in their scent. "My journey took me along the eastern coast and up the delta of the Nile. Beautiful and treacherous land. I don't think I truly believed in crocodiles till I saw one with my own eyes. I will always think of them when I think of Egypt. Patience and majestic, and all too easy to misjudge. Just as those lands are."

The dried, reddish brown pods smell like somewhat floral black pepper with a dry citrus touch to it, simultaneously like and unlike the spicy-sweet combination in the scent of ginger.

"The Great Jewel of the Nile is something I've only read about in books," she smiles faintly, knowing it will in all likelihood remain just something she has only read about. "But it always seemed... profound, what the river must have meant to the people there. Eternal, powerful, life-giving, demanding respect."

Like the sun, in that way. A focal point around which civilizations are formed. Benefactor and potential destroyer in one.

"As it was for me. Stories of strange sights and distance lands. Until I was able to travel there myself."

"The Valley of the Nile was both lovely and fierce. The floods brought life but they could just as easily bring destruction or disease. And yet the monuments! I've never seen the like. The kings and pharaohs stamped their authority into the landscape like the hands of gods." He smiles fondly, remembering his time wandering the temples and stones.

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