There’s something about volcanoes.
Revered, worshiped even, and yet an embodiment of fear.
A destructive kind of beauty.
A danger.
Perhaps it was that alone that drew people to them — her at least.
And maybe it was things just like this that would be the end of her.
Was she almost at the top?
Each step she took strew little clouds of reddish brown dust. She had been trekking up easily enough, skin dusted red from hours of venturing.
It was hot. No doubt, getting hotter.
She huffed, reaching in her bag for her bottle of water. As she drank, she noticed that she was not alone here. The revelation piqued her interest.
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『 W』E NEVER ARE WE WHAT WE INTEND OR INVENT. I THINK SOMETHING DARK’S LIVING DOWN IN MY HEART. AND IF I WANTED TO DIE BEFORE I GOT OLD, I SHOULD’VE STARTED SOME YEARS AGO DIGGING THAT HOLE.
★ —
『 S』OMETHING ABOUT THE HUMIDITY AND ASHEN AIR refuses tabitha a sense of REPOSE, SMOTHERING the comfort of keeping himself in one place, this place. the WELA VOLCANO stretches for miles, towards the horizon and losing opacity in the undertow of spilling overcast. not an inch of it is HOME. the back of tabitha’s throat burns; his brazen spirit kindling in his gut — there is SOMEWHERE, and there is undoubtedly SOMEONE HE USED TO BE. tabitha takes a long swig from his flask, in hopes to SNUFF OUT THE FLAMES. there’s a DARK energy closing in on his chest, creeping and weighing. — WHAT IF HE DOESN’T LIKE THEM ?
『 T』 ABITHA DROPS THE STONE FROM HIS ACHING HAND, caked in the rusted dirt from the flaking, volcano walls. the warm rock, now carved with tabitha’s handiwork: the Ω SYMBOL. they’re INCESSANT, these etchings; an itch he can’t quite scratch. WHAT DOES IT MEAN? — “ WE FOUND A LOT OF SYMBOLS IN THE VOLCANO PRETTY CLOSE TO YOUR ARRIVAL. KIAWE THINKS THE ISLAND DEITY DID ‘EM AS A SIGN. SO, WE DO, TOO . ” — blasted alolans and their conspiracies. tabitha licks a loose drop of amber from the corner of his mouth, and along with the bite of spice, he tastes the salt of his own sweat. the heat climbs, RELENTLESS.
『 I』T’S ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE REFLECTIONS: of a dream, or a memory, involuntarily repressed to the point of being unrecognizable. DEJA VU? a semi-sweet kiss at the nape of his neck — DRIPPING SWEAT AND BLOOD. RED HOOD. MOUTH OF A VOLCANO. BLURRING ASH. “ IT’S GOING TO AWAKEN REAL SOON! HEHEHE ! ” — it ? wela volcano rumbles underneath tabitha’s feet and THIS IS A DREAM, another trip-and-fall down into DISSOCIATION.
『 T』 ABITHA’S KNEES SCRAPE AGAINST THE ROCKY GROUND and his flask clatters, thrown out of reach. “ aye, mate ! what’s the big idea ? ” he shouts, released from the weight of the feminine stranger as she rolls onto her back. tabitha draws his butterfly knife, engulfed in RESURRECTED FLAMES; he is TERRITORIAL and he is FERAL. the sharp tip of the blade, points DANGEROUSLY CLOSE to the young woman. “ what the bloody hell are you trying to do ? ” tabitha knits his brows, curling his lip.
“ you should leave, mate . ”
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How does it feel, to have your trust placed in Maxie? How does it feel, knowing he left your to rot? /To die?/ You were never important to him, and you've always known it. So why did you even bother?
make my muse cry ( accepting )
★ — it’s the same old, same old. everyone’s itching to know how he must’ve felt getting the short end of the stick — the darkest, deepest betrayal of them all. maxie set fire to his own promise with the intention of watching everyone burn down into the molten rock he would step foot on; a path straight to twisted grandeur and certain infamy.
every story has a beginning, middle, and end — and for the grunts of team magma, it began with the curse of a monotonous life, and by the hand of their own savior, was destined to end in bleak death. that’s what made it so easy for him — they were never blood. and what is a promise other than vibrations and air?
“ maxie returned my trust , ” tabitha corrects, huffing from his chest. “ he made me admin, didn’t he? he — . ”
— white rock, hot lava, black smoke — with me, you can change the world — and maxie’s voice, distant and beckoning with a word forever foreign, yet he knows it was always meant for him — tabitha!
tabitha squeezes his eyes shut, cursing the flood of thoughts under his breath. it’s as if he’s jolted awake — a resurgance of epiphany coursing through him. his attitude flickers. there’s a heatwave in the back of his throat, and he grimaces, with nothing to endure it. tabitha chokes on a rebuttal, wincing at the harsh burn of realty. it never gets easier to admit.
“ i-i was just a bloody kid! what d'ya expect me ta do? a-are ya blamin’ me for this? for that sick bastard’s idea? “ tabitha grits his teeth, molds his hands into fists. his tan knuckles shine, pale. ” go ta hell, mate! maybe when ya get there, ya can spend all day askin’ dear ol’ maxie himself ‘bout if homura ever meant shit ta him! ask ‘em if his son meant anythin’ ta ‘em other than a bloody sacrifice! will ya be happy then, mate ? “
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“Mystery flavored malasadas? I thought Mallow was joking around!”
Curiosity pulled at Hau’s mind to question his friend about the new traditional sweets; what and how many flavors there where in each box. His attention broken only when-
Boom. Boom. BOOM.
“Ah! I’m going to miss the show!.”
A new trend perhaps, Hau quickly wrote it off and scrambled to grab pokecoins from his flower pattered cloak only to stop when the seller declared the box was ‘on the house’. Overjoyed by the kind gesture, Hau reached over the stand to deliver a warm and firm hug.
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★ ---
it’s quite far from the marina of heahea city, the western-most tip of akala island, an open door in its own way --- there’s a whole world out there, a life tabitha can’t remember --- but, wela volcano park, in all its ashen glory, is a token tourist attraction, nonetheless. the landmass, rightfully irresistible to travelers of all regions --- even those thrust upon the coastline, forceful, and against their will. the ocean is beautifully, tragically cruel.
even at the torch-lit mouth of the park’s gates, you can spot the faint, neon glow of the grand hano resort. it reminds tabitha of somewhere back in hoenn; something fluorescent and welcoming, but not to the likes of him. mau --- game co --- no mag --- allowed !
and normally, at the peak of night, akala settles down to sleep --- the streets of even the busiest cities near vacant, welcome silence. but, summer had given the island much of what it needed. their cause for celebration, unaltered. the harvest came bountiful, and tonight, the islanders will thank their gods and deities for treasures, materialistic and otherwise.
homura o’callaghan --- he’s heard his name muttered on more than one occasion --- he’s a fire-dancer, alright! yeah, the next kiawe! tabitha’s performance will, undoubtedly, precede his usual practice of stumbling off elsewhere.
“ aye, bastard ! ” tabitha yips, hissing at the hot lick of flames against his knuckles. he pulls his hand from his poi, dropping it to the gravel. the fire fights to stay alight.
“ cursing the fire isn’t going to cause it to yield to you. you have to master it , ” another fire-dancer, one of kiawe’s right-hand men, chimes in. the man --- not quite as tall as tabitha, and certainly not as broadly built --- approaches him with some rise to his chin, and a hint of swagger that makes tabitha curl his lip. the advice, he finds unwarranted. “ hey, loosen up . ”
the fire-dancer offers tabitha something he kept tucked behind his ear --- a tobacco leaf, rolled neat and tight, that he kneels down to light with the last flickers of tabitha’s poi. he takes a few puffs before handing it over. though hesitant, tabitha accepts. “ boy, you sure are an enigma, omega . ”
“ what ? ” tabitha snaps, nearly choking on the smoke expelling from his mouth and nose. “ what the hell ya just call me ? ”
“ omega. we’ve started calling you that around here, hope you don’t mind. homura doesn’t seem to fit quite right, and o’callaghan can be a mouthful. it’s nothing bad. it means ‘the last of the pack’ in some ancient language. we found a lot of symbols in the volcano pretty close to your arrival. kiawe thinks the island deity did ‘em as a sign --- so, we do, too . ”
again, tabitha sputters, “ the what ? ” but, the fact that others are aware of his incessant etchings doesn’t go ignored. at this, he grits his teeth.
instead of a reply, tabitha receives a hearty chuckle and a pat on the back. it’s too friendly, and causes him to flinch --- something he hopes goes unnoticed. though he understands he has a lot to learn about his new home, tabitha doesn’t dwell on the mention of an island deity much longer.
the crowd in the park begins to thicken, and tabitha decides it’s time to meet up with the rest of the fire-dancers. as he reaches for his poi, someone rudely collides into his shoulder. tabitha barely turns his head to glare at the culprit --- a young, island boy; nearly a foot shorter than him. horror fills the boy’s wide eyes. he stammers on, apologetically. whatever goods he was carrying probably didn’t survive the impact.
a red, sticky syrup had splattered on tabitha’s forearm --- food? squinting, tabitha wipes the malasada sauce off with the back of his hand, and brings it to his lips. the texture and taste pair well with the dryness of his mouth, the residue of rum. and there’s something familiar about the flavors. they transport him --- to another one of those dreams, but it feels much more recent. his mind’s eye sees a shoreline, the foam curling around his ankles. and it’s sunset --- all orange and pink and warm --- which reminds him of the first time he’s tasted them; how the sun never set in hoenn; how all he remembers is heat.
“ aye, i know that taste anywhere , ” tabitha muses, disconnected. a smirk threatens to pull the edge of his mouth. “ tastes like a bloody lava cookie . ”
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