#shoreskept

The Rover’s steps slowly stop at the foot of the steps, golden eyes searching for a glimpse of the white and blue veil as a familiar piece begins to fill the garden, slow and calm.

It may have been selfish and foolish of her, to have requested ( no, nearly begged, more like ) the young mistress of the Montelli family to arrange for the quickest trip back to the Black Shores so suddenly. She could have just contacted her from the comforts of her hotel room, could have shown her the gift she’d painstakingly arranged and bundled up together through the communication devices but—it simply didn’t feel enough.

She wanted the Shorekeeper to see it—feel it. She wanted to share the experience with her again, like way back when.

Her steps are slow, as she continues up the stone steps, careful to avoid even the faintest sound that might ruin the scene before her. She knows that the Shorekeeper must be aware of her presence by now. She doesn’t need to take a glance towards the Rover to know, to feel the quiet pull that always lingers between them. Still, the Rover is glad the Shorekeeper hasn’t stopped her playing just to greet her, her hands tightening slightly at the delicate present she holds.

As she reaches the top of the steps, the Rover pauses for a heartbeat, watching the Shorekeeper’s back as she slightly sways while playing, fingers gracefully tracing the piano keys. She lets the moment stretch for a while, savouring the quiet peace that has settled between them. Then, with a breath that feels almost like a nervous sigh, she steps closer, moving soundlessly to the empty space beside the Shorekeeper.

She sets the gift beside her for now, purposely positioning it out of the Shorekeeper’s line of sight, and before the other could think to stop and break the silence between them, the Rover reaches for the keys, eyebrows slightly furrowing to the middle as she tries to recall which ones to press to accompany the other’s. 

It’s… clumsy at first. It always begins clumsy, despite the many times the Shorekeeper has kindly taught her, but soon enough muscle memory takes over, and together, they begin again, hands moving in near-perfect sync, without the need to speak, as if the notes themselves are the words they’ve always needed. Like this, they are one. Like this, it feels as though the Rover needed nothing else but this simple, quiet moment.

Her fingers press the last few keys down, a small smile curling from her lips as they finish the piece at last. Finally, she lets out another breath, turning her head just enough to meet the Shorekeeper’s eyes.

“Hey there,” she begins, her choice of greeting as ‘charming’ as ever. There’s a hint of clumsiness in her smile as she takes her present back into her hands. A hint of awkwardness that only seems to grow as she finally offers it to the Shorekeeper.

A bouquet of white daisies and violets.

The very same flowers, she hopes, that the Shorekeeper saw with her that day.

There’s still so much the Rover cannot remember. So many moments, so many faces that slip through her mind like water through her fingers. She wishes, more than anything, that she could talk about them with those who once knew her. To reminisce, laugh, and share the things lost to time. But those memories are gone now, and though a part of her hopes she will remember everything in full, there will always be a chance that she won't.

“I remembered—what you said back then.”

So she hopes, at least, that this time she can do better.

This time, she won’t forget.

“That we had seen a field of daisies and violets in Rinascita.”

The Thunderer is about to open her mouth to speak. To wish Kiana well in her game--for how could she not?--but also to describe (in detail) just how vital her health is. More than the endless sea amidst the stars above, Mei cares about her. Kiana wouldn't just be letting down those that depend on her, but she with the bolt of the almighty.

And last she checked, few had the courage to dissatisfy Mei.

But Kiana's tongue is quick. It moves faster than lightning can catch, and after hearing the notion of having a nap together, The Thunderer freezes. At her peak, flowers come into full bloom as spring turns to summer: a single row of red, which stretches from cheek to cheek. She tilts her chin downward. Her eyes dart from Kiana's left to her right, never quite landing on the woman herself. "Tch..." is all that she voices at first, a betrayal of her having made something reminiscent of progress with the little stint.

She knows Mei. Knows her well enough to use something as precious as time together to get what she wants from her,

which, today, is being spared a lecture.

"Very well," she tuts, voice grasping for any thread of authority it can hold. When she catches a glimpse at the other's stare she falls weak at the knees--a crack in an otherwise impervious bedrock. She can't keep looking at her like this. Mei shuts her eyes for the next bit of dialogue, believing it to save her from making any embarrassing remarks.

She could not be more wrong.

"If you say it would be of use to you, I'll oblige. I won't worry, but will continue to prioritize your wellbeing. You're important to everyone, Kiana..." Amethyst irises blink open. They fail to reflect the light with how much longing they're sodden with. "You're important to me."

She exhales sharply. In the time it takes for her breath to dissipate against the other's neck, she has shifted their hands such that one of hers palms Kiana's back and the other is bending down to scoop her up by her knees. She is carried, bridal-style and back toward Mei's lodging because they could get there faster.