(Jangly is Jove's performer name) “Wooo!” cried Datz. “Play another one, Jangly!” The performer adjusted his hat with an almost embarrassed smile as about twenty people echoed Datz's sentiment. “Wasn't that song lovely, Amara?” Dhurke asked, turning to her. But Amara hadn't been paying attention. She had instead been gazing at the blue shawled woman hovering near the performer, her face a beautiful picture of tranquility. She had seen pretty women before. Girls in the gallery of the trials she oversaw. Fellow spirit mediums. Foreign diplomats. But none of them had ever managed to make her unable to breathe. “Amara?” Dhurke put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you feeling alright?” Amara just kept her eyes on the woman adjusting the bangle resting on her wrist as more guitar chords rang through the quiet bar. “AMARA!” Datz shouted. “Pohlkunka!” she cried, snapped out of her reverie. She felt a set of eyes fixed on her while Datz was laughing his guts out. “...Sorry, Mara! I just–ha!” He interrupted himself with another giggle before Dhurke joined him, booming his amusement. Amara smoothed her light pink dress as she rose from her seat, her departure barely noticed by the laughing men. — Once she had found a secluded corner of the bar, she clutched the small seal of the Holy Mother tied to her necklace. She was supposed to be the future queen of Khura’in, and everyone had been laughing at her! But then again, the queen of Khura’in wasn't supposed to stare at beautiful women in blue shawls, and she hadn't cared as much about that. She took a deep breath and tried to regain her composure when a flash of blue fabric caught the corner of her eye. “Hello?” Amara's eyes flickered to the woman now standing in front of her, adjusting her blue shawl. “Are you alright?” And somehow it sounded so much more melodic, so much more meaningful than when Dhurke had asked her the same question. “...I'm fine.” Amara said, more confidently than she felt. “I would be embarrassed too in your situation.” the woman said kindly. Amara couldn't tell why this woman, this stranger, cared about how she felt, but she raised no objection as she took the seat closest to her. “Your name is Amara, right?” “Yes…” Amara answered hesitantly. “I'm Thalassa Gramarye. You might have heard of me?” she greeted, wearing a smile sweeter than any Amara had seen before. Thalassa Gramarye, Amara mused. What a pretty name. The woman– Thalassa– extended her hand, and Amara didn't hesitate to take it. “You do not seem like you're from Khura'in.” Amara began. “If I may ask, where are you from?” Thalassa only smiled. “I'm from Japanifornia. So is Jove.” Amara blinked, trying to figure out who Jove could possibly be. “Oh, sorry!” Thalassa chuckled to herself, and it was the most magical sound Amara had heard since the Dance of Devotion chant. “I mean the man playing the guitar.” “I thought his name was Jangly?” Amara blurted. Thalassa laughed again, and Amara's cheeks turned pink. “I forgot he went by that name here!” She leaned towards Amara with a secretive smile. “Personally, I think it's a tasteless name.” she whispered, her sweet floral perfume washing over her. Amara smiled softly as Thalassa kept talking. “I don't know why I agreed to come with Jove to Khura’in. He just wanders around until he finds places ‘underground’ enough for him.” “But I suppose I made the right decision to come here,” Thalassa continued, a finger trailing over her bangle. Amara raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think so?” “If I hadn't come to Khura’in, would I have met you?” Amara gazed into Thalassa's piercing blue eyes. They reminded her of the clear pools beneath the royal shrine. “I suppose you wouldn't.” Their eyes met, and Thalassa put a hand on Amara's, her body heat having warmed the cold metal of her bangle. Thalassa smiled, and Amara did too, and suddenly she was leaning towards her again and Amara might have been leaning too and Thalassa's grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly and— "Lassie! Bar's closing!" Thalassa jumped slightly, laughing under her breath. "Jove," she sighed. She rose, though she didn't let go of Amara's hand immediately. "He has terrible timing." Amara smiled. "So it would seem." Thalassa hesitated before turning away. "Will I see you again?" Amara opened her mouth— Crack. The chatter of the bargoers ceased. Then another crack. The bar started to get warmer. A beam fell down. “FIRE!” Heat rolled across the room. Someone screamed. A bottle exploded behind the counter. Smoke poured down from the rafters. "Go!" Thalassa urged. Amara shook her head. "There are still people inside.” “They can handle themselves!” Thalassa seized Amara's wrist. "This way!” And together, they disappeared into the haze. —
Continuation bc this is long as heck - Two Minutes Earlier - The performer's next chord was interrupted with the loudest shriek that had ever graced Dhurke's ears. He darted from his seat, eyes flickering across the bar, trying to find the shrieker. “It’s fine,” soothed an unfamiliar voice. “Just Apollo.” Dhurke turned to the direction of the voice and found himself looking at the performer, cradling not a guitar, but a baby wrapped in white cloth. “Dang, Jangles! How'd ya get the baby in here?” Datz cracked. “Actually, he's eighteen years old. He stopped growing his first year.” Jangly interrupted in a tonr so serious Dhurke almost thought he was telling the truth. “Wise guy, huh?” Datz continued. “Didn't take you for a family man.” The baby wriggled in protest. “I'm sorry, but could you hold him for just one song? He hates sitting alone,” explained Jangly with an apologetic grin. “Sure,” Dhurke shrugged, scooping up the baby as Jangly picked up his guitar from the table. Jangly— or Jove, as he heard someone call him in passing, let out a sigh, half embarrassed, half relieved. “Thanks. If he starts crying, bounce him a little.” He adjusts his gold bangle Dhurke hadn't noticed before, and strums a chord. Apollo coos in satisfaction and before Dhurke knows it, half a song has passed. Suddenly, a beam crashes down from the roof. The air gets warmer. Someone eyes the other side of the bar. “FIRE!” they cry. “Datz, get everyone out!” Dhurke orders. Jove drops his guitar in his rushing. “APOLLO!” Smoke suddenly filled the room. “Get him outside!” Jove calls out. Dhurke doesn't hesitate and pulls Apollo tighter, sprinting to the exit. Jove follows him out of the front door, trailed by Datz just a few seconds later. Dhurke calls for his wife as soon as he makes it out. “Amara?!” No answer. Apollo cries louder. A smoke-covered figure bursts out of the same doorway, coughing his lungs out. “Apollo!” Jove rips Apollo from Dhurke's arms. “Thank you, sir—” “No time,” Dhurke interrupts. “Amara's still inside!” Dhurke tries to dash back into the building, but part of what used to be the roof falls into his path. The heat made him recoil as Jove, or Datz or somebody pulls him back. “It's too late,” someone says. “No!” Soon, Jove's breathing steadies. “Thalassa…” he croaks. “Where is Thalassa?” “I don't know who that is, man.” shrugged Datz. A cough. “Blue shawl, big bracelet… you couldn't miss her.” “Don't see anyone like that…” Datz muttered. Dhurke and Jove searched too, their eyes landing on embracing families, stumbling bar patrons, and groups of sobbing people. But no blue shawl. Jove swallowed. “She wouldn't leave without me.” “Amara wouldn't either…” Datz looked back at the bar, reduced to bare walls and bits of wood covered in ashes.. “I don't think anyone else is coming out.” Dhurke's eyes turned glassy, like they were filled with fog. “I suppose I'll be going home, then.” “Alone?” Jove asked before he could stop himself. Dhurke looked back at him. “Yes.” Jove opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn't know this man. He didn't know what to say. He didn't even know if Dhurke wanted company. But he knew what it felt like to stand outside a burning building and realize the person you loved wasn't coming back. “You don't deserve to be alone tonight,” Jove said quietly. “If you want…” Dhurke stiffened ever so slightly. “I could come with you.” Dhurke stared at him blankly. “Why?” “Because you saved my son.” Jove looked down. “...And I don't want to be alone either.” The walk was quieter than either of them expected. Usually, Dhurke could fill any silence with ease. He was always the loud one, the stubborn one, the man who was impossible to ignore. But tonight, he could barely speak. Jove wasn't much better. His hands kept on brushing a small photo he kept in his pocket of Thalassa and Apollo. “...You're not from Khura’in.” Dhurke had said once they reached his modest mountain home outside the capital. Jove looked over. “I'm not.” “Then why are you staying here?” “I don't know.” If it was any other night, Dhurke would have chuckled. “I've been wandering all my life. I thought I was good at leaving things behind.” Jove's voice hitched. “Leaving people behind.” Dhurke could only nod solemnly as he opened the door. Jove walked into the small house, bouncing Apollo in his arms. “...Do you have a crib, by any chance?” “Amara was expecting.” Dhurke didn't have the heart to say anything else. “...You can just lift it into the living room or something,” he finally said. “Alright. I'll sleep on the sofa?” “Okay.” But Jove didn’t really sleep that night. Neither of them could. They were too busy thinking of what could have been if they had never brought their wives to that bar.
