Bleeding Branches

[Robert Cross]

He's waited. Waited and wondered.

Where is She?

He'd left his message. And hoped that Alice would respond.

But she hasn't. And Cross can't wait anymore. He has to know, one way or another. Has she accepted his apology or not? Is this the end?

And if it's not the end, what exactly is it?

Alice has been avoiding the Necropolis. That much is clear. The Burned Man has seen no evidence of her in the Underground. And her absence has grown too painful to bear.

So, tonight he's taking a ride. Out beyond the limits of the city proper. Looking to find her on her own ground. Who knows if she'll be there, out at the Farm. But he has to try.

Windows down, wind whipping the stink of burned flesh and singed hair out of the car and into the darkness, Cross feels little comfort in the freedom of the road this evening.

It's been a long time since he's driven to the Farm. Since just after the fire. He's not sure what he'll find. But the state of the property isn't what's weighing on him.

Finally, he turns off the road and drives up toward the farmhouse. Car parked, he cuts the engine and climbs out.

For a long moment, he stands there. His senses supernaturally enhanced, he takes in the sights, sounds, and smells, the whole multi-sensory unfolding of the night. A little sad that he isn't in the mood to enjoy it.

And then he begins to make his way toward the ritual space. Hoping to find Her. And dreading it in equal measure.

[Robert Cross]

Bookkeeping!

[Alice Hart]

In the nights since her flight from the Necropolis, Alice had found herself again, and again at the overgrown and charred husk that once was the Crone Farm.

This night, like those nights, her white and blacks, her few pastels and heels were set aside, resting on a carefully cared for tree stump.

What replaced them was something that once smelled only of gas and ash and fire. Though it still does, mostly in memory. A tattered, burnt robe. Black as the night around her. A stark contrast to her dead-doll-flesh. It's open, resting lightly on her bare breasts, and always between them is a bright, blood red crescent moon.

Alice knelt on the ground, fingers in the dirt. She didn't know what to do. Her prayers had been irrevocably answered...but Alice, Alice didn't know what to do.

Nothing in her life, or death was ever this simple, easy.

She didn't trust it. Even if she trusted the gods.

Confusion and yes, disbelief wracks her...causing her indecision.

She opens herself to the cacophony around her as she tried to settle her mind...only to hear a vehicle's approach!

In a flash she stands, grabbing her anthame, ready to defend her ruined temple, as the crunching sound of steps reach her ears she bears her teeth and hisses, "Who goes there?"

[Robert Cross]

When Alice calls out her warning, the Burned Man freezes.

Now is the moment for decision. If he pushes onward, he will cross a boundary that he can never uncross. Beyond this point, anything might happen. And if she should tell him to leave, that she is done with him...

Yet, the sound of her voice is like a magnet, drawing him closer. Cross knows he cannot turn back.

"It's me," he replies, softly in the dark. She will hear him, he has no doubts about that. And then he continues onward, toward his fate, their fate, whatever it may be.

Until finally, he comes into view. Stopping when he first sees her, standing there, a vision in the ruins.

Somehow her ritual garb seems fitting for this moment. Makes Alice seem more herself. He can smell, even across the distance, the scent of that garment. It seems that, tonight, they both smell of fire or at least the memory of fire.

And, as if in response, the flames of his desire for her come to life somewhere in his undead breast, all tangled up with his sadness and his fear. It roots him to his spot. For now, he cannot come any closer.

"Hello Alice," he says. His voice is still barely more than a whisper.

[Alice Hart]

Her senses heightened as they were, she felt every nuance of his gruff, gravelly voice.

His voice is like a caress and a knife to her gut at the same time.

The heavy tread of his foot comes closer, and she smells him. Under and over the felting scent of fire and gas and memory.

The steps stop, and he's too far and too near all at the same time.

"Robert." she returns her voice much the same.

An impasse, she didn't move from where she stood, frozen with indecision.

She had prayed and it was answered....

....but was this -- the message, his appearance -- Robert, or was this Her?

[Robert Cross]

Last time they'd met, an insurmountable barrier seemed to appear between them. It was a space that neither of them could reach across. That kept them apart, and that was eventually filled by his rage.

Cross can't let that happen again. Won't. And so he makes the first move, taking careful steps toward her while he speaks.

"How are you?" asks, his voice still soft. Full of worry.

More steps.

"Did you get my message?"

He's right in front of her now. But he hasn't touched her yet. Supernaturally keen eyes take in every detail of her appearance. Linger on that crescent moon. He longs to fold her in his arms. Hold her. And more than that.

But he doesn't. Not yet.

"I've missed you, Alice." He has to tell the truth. Has to be vulnerable. No matter how hard that is for him.

[Alice Hart]

This is...

...Alice doesn't know. It feels like everything is suspended, waiting. Like she'd taken a breath, and hadn't released it, but she knows she should.

His steps crunch and carry him closer.

He pays her temple no heed, even ruined as it was, not like she did his.

Something churns with her guts.

He comes close, and he's still to far, but he's still far, far to close.

"Robert." She says again. "I...I got your message." said to bypass his first question. She knew that he'd resist answering her if she asked the same.

...should she ask the same?

"I..." should she accept this gift, him? Or should she turn her back on what a very capricious goddess had gifted her? "I..missed you too." she says because, that at least was the truth.

[Robert Cross]

His first question, the most important one, goes unanswered. And he can figure out why.

The night presses in around them. And somehow, in all this space, under that vast expanse of sky, spangled by an uncountable swarm of stars, the Burned Man feels confined in a way he never does Underground.

Suddenly, Cross is very aware of where, exactly, they are. Her ground. Dedicated to the Crone. He's, at best, an unwanted guest in this place.

But that doesn't matter, not really. All that matters is her. Whether she wants him there, with her, or not.

"Alice...if you'd rather me go, just say so. I know what I did..." his words are choked off for a moment.

When they come back, his voice is thick with emotion. As it always is when he's struggling to make himself be honest about the way he feels. Which only ever happens with her, really. "I know what I said was awful. Cruel. And not true. I'll...understand. If..."

If what? She says she never wants to see him again? That what they had is done?

God, he could reach out and touch her. He could.

But to do so, without knowing where she stands. It would be another violation of trust. Something he's not willing to do.

[Alice Hart]

Rumble, not of thunder but of a voice. His voice.

Her hearing is keen because of what she is, and made keener still by her own will.

Every single nuance is laid bare for Alice's perusal. For her to hear, yes, but also to taste, and to feel.

The way he chokes his words like she strangled her own.

She lets him speak. To choke off his words, too stutter and stumble.

Then, she lets the words hang, and fall.

"...I was defending my friend." Alice eventually says. "You know me. Why did me being me make you...why?" she demands, because if her being herself made Robert go cold then...then she wasn't good for the Burned Man.

No matter what Aphrodite had given her.

[Robert Cross]

Because I'm not sure she's actually your friend.

But he can't say that. Won't. He's said enough on that front and to disastrous effect.

"I guess I was trying to defend you, in my own fucked up way...To protect you." he says, sounding remorseful. "Or I thought I was."

He shakes his head, looks at the ground, then the sky, and then back to Alice, luminous in the night.

"But I lost it. I was afraid for so long, frustrated. Confused. And it got the best of me. I'm sorry."

The lash-scars on his back seem to throb for a moment. A reminder.

"I do know you. That you're loyal and understanding. And strong. I guess I was afraid that those qualities...could be taken advantage of. But that's not my place, to tell you what to do, who to forgive, or how to handle your problems."

If he were alive, he would sigh. But he's not. So instead, he lapses into an unbreathing silence. Waiting to see how she might respond.