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[chrisisofaith]

UN: ravens

You've reached Chris Sonom, previously of Melvaunt Deismyr, please leave a message.

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[handleyourshit]

"Yeah, yeah - I was a deathly woman for a while, I know," she assures him, because as much as she has experience with a lot of unnatural death that has left its mark on her, she was raised to think of it as a beautiful, natural, transitional thing herself. Her relationship with it is different than most from back home.

She eases down next to him, eyes steady on the ledge and careful in her movements, but join him she does. And she'll trade her bottle for his.

"I just grabbed the fullest bottle I had," she admits, sniffing his. "I'd apologize for using you for helping me get rid of it, but I'm prepared to do my share."

[chrisisofaith]

"I remember that...I think I sang to you as a siren." It was a little hazy there in the lake, but he remembers singing to death herself.

Regardless of her admission, he takes a healthy swig off her bottle. "Like I'll complain about helping a friend rid herself of shit alcohol. It's still alcohol." He takes another, smaller, sip and toasts the bottle towards her.

"But...in exchange for your shit alcohol, I'd surely like to know why we're needing the rush of open air and gravity tonight."

[handleyourshit]

She tries not to think about la catrina. Things go a bit strange on her when she does it too much, for too long.

She smiles anyway, toasting his bottle to hers, drinking. By the time she's letting it soak into her tongue and breathing around the sting, by the time she's swallowing, he's saying that and she feels the expression drain out of her face.

She leans forward and stares down, first only a little, but then a bit further.

"What's the angriest you've ever been, Chris?" Her nails dig into glass, and cement.

"I don't need details of what happened. Just what were you prepared to do?"

[chrisisofaith]

It takes no time to know his answer. He feels it like an old wound that would never fully heal right. He could remember the bile in his mouth and the fire in his veins and the tears blurring his vision as he threw raw magical energy uselessly at a creature far beyond his capability in felling.

All over the cold, pale, corpse of his twin sister. The scream he'd given had left his throat raw for days and he'd wanted to cry when it started to heal. How dare his body heal and move on when hers never would? How dare their feet carry them away from the burning and destroyed city of his home when his heart was burned to ash on her funeral pyre? His friends spoke of war and retribution and finding answers and attempting to rebuild and all Chris wanted to do was scream and tear and break everything around him until they could tell him why it should even matter anymore?

Rhyt had wanted a life in their city...all Chris had ever wanted was to be free of it. To leave and live his own life.
But not like that. Not at the cost of her.

He swallows too hard and takes a very long drink. "Burn the gods down from the sky, starting with the impossible metal dragon that dared to exist before me in that moment. I wanted to tear it apart...gear by gear...until I'd torn my fingers down to stumps doing it. I wouldn't even have cared so long as I could have just made it hurt."