[P] I AM STILL HERE

[Jahin]

He is a mirage in the heat, a flame flickering on the horizon. The wind scrapes across his skin like sandpaper and stings his eyes. He stumbles across something in the sand--a skull long since devoured by beetles and bleached by the sun. Even the smell of death is gone. 

Poor bastard.

Probably got caught trying to steal water from the Oasis. He wishes it wasn't a common sight these days but wishing couldn't change the reality they had been living--no--surviving in during the regime of Raum. He gives the skull little more than a tired, grim glance and continues down the beaten path to the pool of water. 

Avdotya lingers at the water's rippling edge, her form shimmering like obsidian in the hot noon sun. 

"Thought I'd find you here," he says as he joins her. He drinks deeply, enjoying the silence and the peaceful serenity that the Oasis now offers. No guards. No clamoring, rioting exiles (well, little more than bags of skin and bone) begging and pleading for a drop of water, only to be turned roughly away or worse should they have chosen to ignore the first warning. 
 
He stares at his own reflection as water beads and moistens his cracked lips. He counts every droplet. More precious than pearls in the past days. He peers closer and frowns. His own hips jut sharply beneath his scarred hide, like ridges of a canyon rather than the strong, smooth slope they should be and the plains of his face hold a certain gauntness and his eyes sit hollowly and dully. And we were the lucky ones, he thinks. He had not been so lucky when Zolin reigned. The scars that lace his ankles tingle. 

It's over now. But how long will it take for these new and recent scars on Solterran hisotry to fade? He thinks of the skull half-buried where already the sand and sun and wind are erasing the last physical remnants of Solterra's latest chapter. He glances at Avdotya. "Long live the king."

@AVDOTYA
welp this is shite, sry, send help

[Avdotya]

There is an absence in Avdotya’s gaze as she stands over the sparkling blue water of the oasis; her eyes are blank, devoid of anything, no anger or hatred, no guilt or anguish. She feels nothing. The emptiness seeps through her veins as heavy as stone with a hold that is steadfast and utterly unrelenting. It is the feeling that overtook her when she escaped that dirty old cell in the palace underground, the one that urged her to slit Zolin’s throat as he lay in his bed pleading for his worthless life. It pushed her to light that very palace aflame not so long ago. What else, the viper wonders, could it lead her to in the wake of Makeda’s death.

Those thoughts are disturbed when Jahin arrives at her flank, calm and collected and very much oblivious. Do you know that your love is dead? Do you want to know how I found her emaciated body, Jahin? The way the flies dined upon her open eyes? Hillocks of rib and sunken skin flourish once more in her mind, but she blinks them away before the details can unfold. Perhaps it is a good thing that he wasn’t the one who found her - he can remember Makeda the way he had always loved her, with that mischievous flicker in her gaze and fullness in her proud step. She was the closest thing Avdotya knew to love and to see her the way she was in the canyon was like nothing else.

No, Jahin did not know. At least, not yet.

He takes a drink of water, surely the first in days she assumes. When he is done, he looks at her. Her ears spin to listen to him speak, but while he does so she reaches around to the wooden handle of her spear and unwinds something jingling from it. She tosses it to his feet, before him the glittering, golden chain that once decorated Makeda’s vibrant face. Avdotya knows he will recognize it.

”Long live the king.” She repeats.

---

@jahin (i did not proofread this i hope there is nothing too embarrassing in here lol)

credits

[Jahin]

Avdotya is smoke; neither here nor there.

Her body may be physicially present (a black shadow shifting on the sand) but her eyes are distant and he supposes that her mind drifts elsewhere.  Matters above his pay grade probably. He wants to ask, but doesn't. He wishes that she might trust him enough to share her thoughts, but then if she trusted anyone she would not be Avdotya.

She is someone he has always known and never known. They are both deeply familiar and stark strangers and he does not anticipate they will ever be anything more or anything less. It is a simple matter. It is just as well that they will never be anymore familiar or chummy than a formal relationship between a Khan and her Jagun, because what more can be said outside of Davke related matters?  He can't possibly imagine either of them engaging in a casual conversation about the weather.

She tolerates his presence but does she tolerate much more than that? He really can’t say. Avodtya has always been unpredictable as an afternoon sandstorm and just as deadly. He does not expect this particular encounter to be different. He endures her vague scrutiny, knowing it means more than she lets on. The relentless glare of her eyes is like the scathing afternoon sun with vultures circling overhead. Her intensity is exhausting and everlasting. He does not suppose there will ever be another of Avdotya's like.

Long live the king, she repeats, her eyes void of any emotion. She reaches for something wrapped on the head of her spear and tosses it at his hooves. A chain of brilliant, glimmering gold. He knows instantly the jewelry belongs to Makeda. His stomach drops. The bright sun enhances the glittering chain; he winces as the light shimmers and refracts in his eyes.  

"What is the meaning of this," he says at last, hardly able to control the tremble in his voice. Somewhere in the depths of his heart he already knows but he pushes the reality of it all away, pushes it down, down, down. "What is this," he repeats, this time more urgently, demanding she meet his furious gaze. He feels the hardened exterior of his rigid discipline fading rapidly in the face of one of his greatest fears. His voice cracks. "Tell me, Avdotya. Tell me!"

@Avdotya

[Avdotya]

She watches realization gloss over Jahin’s violet eyes, how it washes away his typical stoicism and paints the man in a blooming fury. Even his voice seems to quake in the midst of his demands and it draws Avdotya closer, only a step or two toward him so she can feel the cascading heat of his ire. ”Oh Jahin,” she chides, ”don’t tell me you are blind to the flaws of the crown.” Her own skin starts to prickle listening to the words that fall from her tongue. It is the failures of the court that drive the Davke closer to decimation - it is the failures of the court that stand as the reason why Solterra’s tribes of old are nothing but fable written in black ink upon dog-eared pages. She meets his gaze without hesitation. ”Makeda is dead because the capitol cannot leash its incapable leaders. She is not the first of us to go, nor will she be the last.”

She doesn’t mince her words. The tone in which she speaks is one that challenges Jahin to disagree with her, it begs of him to tell her otherwise if only to give her reason loose the eager edge of her spear. Her memory recalls the stallion’s support for Seraphina under her reign as queen, abandoned only on Raum’s unceremonious usurping of the silver woman; it never left her mind, that loyalty to the throne. There remains a lingering shred of mistrust in him since then - since his return - and Makeda’s death has only left the viper more alert than ever before.

Between the pair remains the girl’s chain, half-buried in wet sand yet still glittering in the limited sunlight that is able to reach it. Avdotya looks down at it, staring briefly until her telepathy reaches down to lift it up in front of him. ”What will you do, Jahin?” She takes a step back, the chain along with her, and waits for his response. Do not disappoint me, her sharp  expression so clearly says. Do not fumble now, Jahin.

Whether or not the Khan has been driven mad in light of recent events is unknown, but her agenda is as straight as an arrow. To disagree with her now is to betray her, a crime not often forgiven by a viper... and yet here they were, dancing along the paper-thin blade of whatever destiny held in store for them.

---

@jahin figured this route may play well into current happenings. ;)

credits

[Jahin]

He burns. 
 
He burns like an imploding sun. How else can a Davke warrior react? How can he feel anything but all-consuming rage? How can he contain this blazing inferno, this incredible murderous intent he harbors in his heart?  Reality blurs in vivid shades of red and orange and his legs quiver like a newborn colt. The smell of smoke and burnt flesh lingers in his nostrils and the taste of blood is metallic on his tongue as he gnashes his teeth.
 
Avdotya steps closer, muscles taut and coiled like a viper ready to strike. He half expects her to lash out at him, but she merely reprimands him for his blindness. Oh, Jahin. Avdotya blames Makeda’s death on the capitol and the frivolities of court. She blames vain, selfish kings and queens and he can’t help but agree with her for once. Or is it grief that sways him so?
 
Now that he has thought it—seen it—he can’t rid himself of the spectacular vision of the capitol burning, burning, burning. He could burn it down. He could burn it all down. The revelation is as divine and bright as Solis himself. Isn’t that what Makeda would want? Wouldn’t she demand that he bathe in the blood of those who had left her corpse rotting and stinking in the unforgiving sun? What other way could there possibly be? If he did not avenge her death she would think him weak and somehow the idea of Makeda scorning him in the afterlife was almost too much to bear. 
 
What will you do, Jahin? Avdotya dangles the chain before him, chiding and goading him. She speaks with venom on her tongue and calls out to the dark desires of his heart like the serpent of Eden.
 
He grasps at the delicate golden chain wildly; feeling the mania ebb and flow within him like a pulsing river. The metal is blistering hot from the glaring sun overhead and scorches his skin like a brand but he finds that the searing pain grounds him. The scent of smoke and charred flesh fades and the flames within his heart flicker and wane until there is nothing left; only silence, sadness, and an aching sense of emptiness in the wake of Makeda's death. 

There is undeniable truth in the brokenness of Solterra but Jahin knows exactly where to find the guilty party. It's certainly much easier and more convenient to place the blame somewhere else like the capitol—or anywhere else for that matter—rather than facing the reflection of the tired, scarred face staring back at him in the shimmering oasis water at his hooves. 
 
“If only it were that simple.” He tears his gaze away from his reflection and meets her cold black eyes. “I wish it were, I really do.” He can’t help but wonder if she is enjoying this little game—tormenting him and driving his mind to the brink of madness and back. And for what? A test of some kind? He is too tired to ask, too numb to care what Avdotya thinks of him anymore and this liberates him and he speaks freely.
 
“You're right—Makeda will not be the last, but only if we fail to adapt. We can’t live this way anymore, we will never win!” His voice rises, trembling with anger and exasperation. Surely you must know that by now, Avdotya, after all you have been through? After all your people have been through? “And if we do manage to win,” he spits the word sarcastically, “by some mad stroke of luck or divine intervention, at what cost? Until it’s only you, the mighty khan, still standing? You have lost so much already and now your sister is gone; are you prepared to lose even more? Does it really mean that much to you to make the capitol pay?”
 
He regrets the questions as soon as he asks—he fears he already knows the answer and he’s not sure he’s ready to hear it from her lips; not ready to believe that power and revenge might mean more to Avdotya than her family.
 
Jahin and the khan have always had a rocky relationship but he fears he has gone too far this time. He shakes his head sadly, wishing he could feel surprised that she still spurns him for his past transgressions. Jahin is a simple man and he lives by a simple code. All those years ago it just seemed right to repay his debt to Seraphina and to live and let the capitol live…but was it really worth it to be trade Avdotya’s respect and trust in order to keep his own sense of honor and pride intact? 
 
 “What will I do? I will do what I have always tried to do. I will protect and serve you and what remains of our people.” But no matter what I say or do, it's never enough for you... 

Where else could this all be coming from, if not from her deep distrust of his intentions? Why else would she use Makeda’s death as an excuse to test him, again? He knows she will never be satisfied with any answer he gives her; her standards are so impossibly high. “What I do or don’t won’t matter. I'm nobody. You are Khan and our fate rests solely with you, Avdotya. So, what will you do? Are we to be relics of a bygone era? Bleached bones in the sand next to Makeda’s? Or will the Davke have a future in Solterra?” 
 
He tosses Makeda's chain back to her. If the loss of her own sister can't convince her that it might be worth seeking another path for the Davke, then nothing will. 

@Avdotya

[Avdotya]

She knows. When the blaze that lights Jahin’s lavender eyes begins to die out, Avdotya knows.

Though he calls himself Davke, she does not see one.

In that moment, before he even utters a single word of excuse, the Khan feels herself coil; she takes umbrage for his own lack of rage and feels it grow ever-fierce in her own chest. This man is no Davke, he is no friend of hers or an ally... he is not- was not worthy of Makeda’s affections when that wild heart of hers still beat. Now the viper understands.

If only it were that simple.

Jahin’s sentiments pull a chuckle from her throat, subtle and void of emotion as it cuts through his voice. Indeed, simplicity is a rare and elusive creature, but one thing that will always be as concrete as the cycle of day and night is that the Davke do not bend. There is no negotiating their values, beliefs that have stood strong against the wear of a thousand years. What he may falsely see as her refusal to adapt is, in actuality, her fealty to their people and those who have died before them. Each and every Khan that has reigned before her held true to who they are as a group: unyielding, bloodthirsty ravagers. There is no room for making nice with the world, there never has been; she’ll be damned if she’s the coward to break that trend.

And so the stallion’s weakness is his and his alone. She does not balk at the thought of losing him, for he has been lost before. ”It seems I already am the only one left standing, Jahin.” Her eyes are narrow, brutality rattles her bones - and yet Avdotya cannot help but feel a sense of disappointment trickling through her mind. It settles and simmers in her flesh, nearly dulling the ferocity she feels towards everything as they continue their dance.

Nearly.

Nearly.

She waits only for him to finish talking until whatever small space that remains between them is diminished, one quick step and she can suddenly feel the warmth of his breath and the prick of his anger still lingering in the air. She consumes it, overthrows it with her own vile chagrin and curls her neck just enough to bring her peeling lips to his ear. ”Let me make myself very clear:” her spear wriggles loose from its holster on her foreleg and eagerly seeks the soft skin below Jahin’s jaw - should it find its mark, he will feel only the very tip of the blade tickling at his throat, ”I will do whatever it takes to make sure their lives were not lost in vain, but you and I have a very different understanding of what that means. I will have blood or I will die spilling it. I would sooner meet Solis in some fiery hell than betray the ways of our people, just like any other Davke... except one, apparently.” Her voice is a low hiss meant only for him to hear.

”Now would you like to question me any further?”

Truly, this is the moment she realizes she has no family left.

---

@jahin (next post will have the official gtfo :'c)

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[Jahin]

Avdotya's glacial chuckle and stony black eyes sends an icy trickle down his spine and the blood pulsing in his veins turns to ice. Before she even speaks, he knows it is over. He knows it in the way she looks at him as if  she has never seen him before, as if he is a stranger she’s never met. She’s pushing him away--nay, throwing him away--like he is nothing. Am I really nothing to you, after all these years? She confirms what he already knows and cuts him down with her words relentlessly. She knows it will hurt and it does. He has not mastered a mask of cruel indifference like Avodtya; he winces, as if her words are venom that have infiltrated his bloodstream. 

“That’s not true,” he says roughly, stepping towards her. “You know it’s not.” I’ll always be there for you. What is he without his kahn? Avdotya and the Davke are his entire life. “Don’t do this.” His voice is soft. Without you I am nothing. But it’s as if he can already feel the earth splitting beneath his cloven hooves. The delicate fissure that has always ran so precariously between them moans and shudders until it tears apart, leaving a gaping chasm of hurt between them. He knows he can’t slap a bandaid on it this time, not like last time. 

And then her spear is at his throat, tracing the contours of his skin with a touch as soft as a woman’s tender caress and just as promising. He has seen Avdotya’s spear impaled in hundreds of enemies but never in a million years could he have imagined that he would be on the receiving end of it this day.  And she does make a promise--Avdotya promises death, she promises blood. If he has learned anything about her in all these years, it is that she always makes good on her promises. So this is it, then. 

He remains motionless, his gaze holding hers unflinchingly. He beholds the vastness of a great black, fathomless abyss in Avdotya’s eyes and sees something close to infinity. Jahin isn’t afraid of death. What Davke is? Honestly, he’s surprised to have survived this long. He’d always figured he’d live a short, passionate life at best; fucking and fighting his way through life as most Davke braves do until they simply end up with their heads on a spike in some posh lord's garden as exotic decor. 

But he isn’t young anymore; he doesn’t thirst for blood and pleasure in the same way he did in the wild, passionate days of his youth. He no longer lives one day to the next--marveling that he’s made it another hour, day, week, month, year--only to do the same killing, fucking, and raiding all over again like it's his last day. He thinks of the future and realizes how truly little he’s accomplished in life--how hardly any of it matters if she wholeheartedly believes he’s a traitor. She hisses at him like a viper, her words slicing to the bone. 

“I’ve done my best. I’m sorry it’s not enough for you. It never has been.” When he speaks the spear dips tenderly into his skin like a quill in ink, drawing forth a tiny pearl of blood. He swallows. He does not doubt her intentions; he does not look death in the eyes and say something stupid or foolish like “do it” because she either will or she won’t. He awaits her judgement silently. As khan, she is completely within her right to forfeit his life as she sees fit. He’s lived his last day for almost eight years, what’s one more?

@Avdotya ;_;

[Avdotya]

Don’t do this.

For a moment there is hesitation, a break in the way her eyes bear so viciously into his and she wonders if she is making the right decision by cutting Jahin loose; he is the last of the Davke she knows to be alive and here she is on the edge of pushing him away. But where has he been? Avdotya reminds herself. Where has he been while you shed every last drop of blood and sweat for who your people are? While you have watched them perish and rot at the hands of Day Court? Her hesitation vanishes with the wind, her ears fall flat to the back of her neck and she feels a snarl trying to bubble up from her throat. ”It is true, Jahin. The capitol has made you weak, it has dimmed the fire of your Davke heart and for that you cannot be trusted.” I am alone even with you standing right here in front of me.

She dismisses the self-pity, forces it away with her doubt and in its place anger continues to blossom. If it is a monster she must become to breathe life back into her feral desert horde, then let her grow fangs from her gums and the horns of the devil from her head.

Let her eyes go black with hate and her heart putrefy into nothingness.

She presses her spear deeper, deep enough that when he speaks she can smell the blood as it trickles from his skin - she almost tastes it with every word he says. And then she laughs again while she proceeds to drag her blade down his throat (though tactfully enough so the bleeding is far from life-threatening), turning away from him and lifting her head to watch where the sun sat in the sky above them. ”No, I suppose it never has.” The viper confirms coldly.

Her leg lifts to take a step, but she pauses. She shifts her eyes for a fraction of a second to linger upon the golden chain that still sits in the sand, half-buried now. Although the temptation to take it sits heavy as an ox on her mind, the Khan does not reach for her sister’s trinket - she leaves it for him to decide if it will be taken by the desert just like the rest of Makeda’s body. She knows the weight of the gesture, and she hopes his heart hurts to think of the girl just as much as hers did when she found her dead. 

”Goodbye, Jahin.”

Goodbye, Makeda.

She walks, alone.

---

@jahin (lmk if you aren't comfortable with her cutting him!!! can definitely change that!)

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