naima-de-faria

[naima-de-faria]

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adventure-strength-anger‌:

Miles Belmonte had a long list of regrets. First and foremost was those four years spent in the IPL – International Peace Legion. It was there that he’d nearly lost an eye and leg… Literally – that explosion had nearly taken everything from him. He was a child shorn of fate, unloved and cursed with this… Violent destiny – a destiny that had brought him here, seemingly away from the world’s madness yet enamored with a brand of their own altogether. This island society… It certainly made Miles feel a bit uneasy, albeit not the same unease that gripped a man back in Blighty. He certainly missed the Elise – that bar had, at one point, meant everything to him. Miles had never expected the bar to become what it did – asylum for the world’s have-nots. One after another they sauntered in – each a survivor like himself. He did miss them – for years that ‘crew’ was his greatest success story. Some of them had watched the world fall apart together…

It was on this date that Miles was confident his little 'care package’ was poised to arrive. Strategically he’d positioned himself near the port, chatting with a few familiar faces, practicing his already advanced knowledge of the island’s native tongue. That exchange had Stephanos eyeing him strangely. “You go from knowing nothing… To this?” The man had asked. Miles met the question with a shrug of his sore shoulders. “I learn fast.” Stephanos shook his head abruptly, “Piss off with that. You’re a strange man, Miles Belmonte.”

He was just that – a strange man with a busted knee and a gift… For something. Even after all these years he hadn’t quite figured it out. He’d had to explain it once or twice – to a lover, then to a friend, and once upon a time nearly to an entire squadron of legionnaires that saw something particular shoot out of his hand. If the world hadn’t been going to shit, Miles might be in a cage somewhere – a lab rat for whatever was different about him… “What about the little runaway? She’s the strange one,” Miles retorted, arms crossing over his chest as his mind wandered… “Yes, my friend,” Stephanos placed a soft hand upon Miles’ sore shoulder… Almost as if he had known, “but she is our future… Never an easy fate.” Miles’ attention shifted suddenly to the meager harbor and shrugged off Stephanos’ hand, taking a few steps away and cupping a hand above his eyes. He saw them just as the vessel skipped off a wave and into view – heard them even. “You keep saying that,” Miles had danced back into English – it was much easier for him. Miles had managed a few steps away from Stephanos before he heard the man now behind him raise his voice and speak, “Because it is the truth… I’ll be expecting you at the town meeting tonight,” he called out, but Miles merely waved a hand back at Stephanos. If he had nothing to do… He might go to that meeting. Sharing his knowledge and helping build this place into something had become something of a passion project for the strange island’s equally strange guest.

He arrived at the port moments after the desired vessel had docked and stood on the opposite side of the lowered 'bridge’, which was a simple piece of wood set between the swaying anchored boat and the natural rocky terrain that constituted the island. “My friend!” A man exclaimed from on board, manifesting at the other side of the bridge but a younger man darted across first… Who dropped to his knees and bowed his head as if he were honoring the messiah himself. “Kyros… You really don’t,” Miles had begun, but now the larger man crossed the shoddy bridge and hooked one of the largest hands Miles had ever perceived onto the younger, praying man’s shirt and yanked him to his feet. “Don’t make my best paying customer uncomfortable… Even if this man saved your miserable little life.” The large sailor turned and pushed the younger man back across –back onto the boat before turning. “I apologize for my cousin… I’m afraid he idolizes you now.” Miles chuckled and awkwardly itched the back of his head. “He really shouldn’t,” he confessed with yet another shrug. “He really should not,” the large man echoed, shaking his head and then breaking out into severe laughter. “Come, we drink one, then you get your package. That’s my rule when I deal with a friend.” Miles… Shrugged. “Not much else to do here other than drink,” he uttered with a hint of disdain, but the larger man hooked an arm around Miles’ shoulders and immediately begun leading him towards the tavern, “Oh, there’s a whole helluva lot to do here… Lots of nice girls, too!”

One drink became two, two became three… And then Miles had to escape. The men in the bar begun arm wrestling, but that quickly transitioned into actual wrestling. For the most part this society was not a violent one, but men were engaged in constant contest to win the favor of any woman… All they wanted was to be picked – to be taken into a home, claimed for the day… Miles refused those invitations daily. He’d been here for three weeks and turning them down – big, small, tall, short, old, young – even Naima’s mother had acted strange during her daughter’s absence. Miles had been in his room, writing a letter when the older woman appeared in the doorway, asking him if he needed anything… Overly emphasizing on the 'anything’ bit. That had been an awkward breakfast, but afterwards he was alone, occupying the area where he’d set up that hammock near the secluded cliffs that Naima had shown him, only this time he was joined by a fifth of Irish whiskey and a pack cigarettes that Naima hadn’t managed to steal from him yet.

Blue eyes shot open at the movement of flesh towards him. He saw her suddenly – warped by sunlight, a golden aura around her already angelic features. Miles adjusted quickly, moving to sit up, suddenly a little dizzy by… Well, everything. The half-empty bottle of whiskey fell to the ground and thankfully it was sealed lest he throw himself from these cliffs in utter defeat and face impalement via rock. He leaned down, groaned, and picked the bottle up, studying her before offering Naima a smile that matched hers. “This is proper whiskey – not that like filth they drink here.” He was drunk, but not terribly so. Dozing off for what he imagined could only have been a few hours helped matters. “Where are you going?” He asked despite already climbing onto his feet. “Last time I went out and about with you… We ended up recreating Indiana Jones in some ruins…” Naima de Faria had no clue who the fuck Indiana Jones was. Realizing that, Miles laughed – at himself, shaking his head and offering her a cursed shrug. “So… Where are we going?”

In truth, Naima was tempted to stay right there - to ultimately steal the hammock from him and take a much deserved nap. She was exhausted, sleep having been something she hadn’t been getting much of lately. The thought brought a slight pout to her lips as she debated taking the little adventure she had planned versus the merits of a good nap. After all, this was one of her favorite spots, and she could half feel herself dozing off at the mere idea of a nap. But then again, while the spot in the cliffs was secluded, there was occasional foot traffic that could bring unwanted interactions. Worst of all, Stephanos had found her here previously and it was very likely that he had been checking all of her usual haunts over the past week. Naima knew that the longer she stayed gone, the longer the lecture would be - she had no doubt that Stephanos was already composing one in his head. While some may choose to face the music and get it over with, that was logic that Naima never quite followed; she was too stubborn to show her face before she was ready. She certainly wasn’t ready yet. First, it would be her mother. She would go on and on about how worried she had been, how Naima was all she had in the world. Through this, Naima would bite her tongue to hold back a retort that it was likely Stephanos who noticed she was missing and not her mother. Tears would flow, inevitably Naima would end up in a rib-crushing hug, and then the conversation would turn to Stephanos while her mother would mutter in agreement. Something about how she put herself in danger, how she could have gotten hurt or worse and no one on the island would have even known. Something about how she was getting too old for this, that it was time to face her responsibilities like an adult. Something else about how the island functioned like a clock, with all their cogs and moving parts in place and any piece missing could ruin their reality as they knew it. That one was certainly his favorite, and it had always made Naima roll his eyes. He would speak of how she had disrespected their traditions by missing a ceremony and truthfully, she had never missed one in the past. While she hated being paraded around like some animal for sale and she usually ended up leaving early (which earned a lecture all in it’s own), she had never been so bold to skip one entirely. Truthfully, she was nervous about how angered her people may be over this, though she would never admit that aloud - her pride was too much for that. And finally, she knew Stephanos would end his lecture with how disappointed his father would be, and Naima would seethe with anger and nauseous with guilt. Really, she had gone over it in her mind at least once a day for the last three days. That should be enough of a punishment. Naima felt the edges of her lips curl into a slight smile as she watched him drop the bottle onto the ground as he tried to sit abruptly in the hammock. She leaned to pluck the bottle from his hands, eyeing the contents before removing the lid to take a sip herself. The face she made was involuntary, nose scrunched up in distaste, but she took another swig once the initial distaste faded. “Filth has been good enough for us. Tastes better, too.” Likely due to less alcohol content, but never mind that. She had always been more fond of rum as it was. Naima watched him as he stood from the hammock, taking an unconscious half-step back. She eyed him over, second-guessing her decision to invite him. She certainly wanted him to come along, but it was less of a hike and more of a day-trip. The terrain wasn’t easy by far, and she was unsure if reflexes watered-down by alcohol would be sufficient. She scrunched her brow at his reference, though didn’t bother to ask for clarification - she likely wouldn’t understand regardless, and honestly didn’t much care. “It….oh, what’s the English?”” She scowled for a moment as she thought, biting at her lower lip for a moment. Her English had been improving, likely due to actual effort being put forth on her part. She had never had reason to speak anything other than her native Portugese, but evidently Miles was reason enough. Yet still, she struggled occasionally with remembering words, and her grammar certainly struggled. “Secret!” She produced the word with a smile, relieved and proud for coming up with it rather than reverting to Portugese. “It is secret. My secret place.” The only one left that Stephanos had yet to find, and she hoped he would never. There was not much of the island she had yet to explore. “But...maybe not now. You seem…” she held her arms out and swayed a little, pretending to stumble. “Not steady.”

& no one knows how far it goes

[naima-de-faria]

Barbara Palvin

[naima-de-faria]

& no one knows how far it goes

The phrase “hot and cold” could certainly come to mind when it came to Naima. At times it could certainly feel like one was going three steps forward and then a mile back, and that was simply how she had always been. Her father had used to joke that her moods changed like the winds, and that she could be just as violent. As a child that thought used to make her smile. As the years went on and the ache she felt for her father only grew and grew, remembering it just made her sad. She had gained quite the reputation on her island since reaching puberty, and for all sorts of reasons. Her beauty was usually the first thing discussed, though her attitude was a close second. Naima was unpredictable despite the sweet exterior, and this was something she normally prided herself on. However, in the past few weeks that had taken a turn. Spending time with the outsider certainly made her mother happy, as well as Stephanos. After all, that was all that they had asked of her, to give him a chance, to be welcoming...though Naima was sure there were intentions far deeper than that, but at the surface, they were happy. The other girls on the island were sour with Naima taking up much of his time as they vied for his attention, but that was nothing new - truthfully, Naima never considered the girls her age friends, so it didn’t much bother her. For once, things in her world were calm and quiet - no one was barking at her for being uncooperative, frustrated with her for not caring about anything other than herself or from having to blow over some violent outburst. For a few weeks, anyway. And just like that, no one could find her for a full seven days. Her mother had brushed it aside at first, saying Naima did this from time to time, which was certainly true. Stephanos was immediately frustrated, which was usually his first response anyway. Her mother’s frustrations grew after the first few days when it became obvious that she was gone by missing a ceremony, embarrassment likely fueling the fire. But Naima never cared much for how her mother felt anyway; she knew the anger would blow over a few days after she showed her face again, as it always did. She ensured that her return was quiet, as she still wasn’t ready to re-establish herself or show her face. She was really only looking for Miles, and she found him fairly quickly. A quick tap on the shoulder was the only greeting she offered, though she supposed the smile she offered could count as well. “I am going on a hike,” was all she offered, reaching up to adjust the strap on her sundress. Her hair was damp - she had snuck home quickly for a shower and to change, and the fabric bag on her shoulder had some food as well. “Come with me?” While she wasn’t quite ready to return to society, solitude was no longer what she was searching for. “..If not, please no tell Stephanos you see me.” She could already hear him yelling in the back of her head.

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MADEIRA ISLAND 

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Stephanos smiled, holding his hands up, as if to surrender. "You see things unfairly, Miles. I'm hardly offering you a human sacrifice. We do things differently here, Naima knows that. I have no say over what she does, I am sure that you have seen her iron will.“ He smiled fondly. "I brought you here for the reasons we have discussed, tell me what you were expecting and I will do my best to meet those expectations. My apologies if the customs of my home offend you, though I feel in due time you'll find that this place, even in the current state, is far more peaceful than what you'll find in the outside world.”

Miles acquired his golden chance to question the man yet he couldn’t help but conclude that he departed with more than he’d entered with… Stephanos – he was beginning to learn – was simply like that. He’d grown shockingly familiar with the streets of the ‘city’. Navigating them drunkenly was still a pain – simply because each house looked the same. His confidence had dwindled when he entered the incorrect home. It wasn’t the intrusion – it was the narrow escape. Three women nearly overpowered him… But that wasn’t a story he was overly fond of sharing.

Instead, Miles had escaped. For a change he was the one leaving the people in his wake and seeking the isolation Naima was often so interested in. It took some ingenuity, however, the sizable hammock he’d created was actually somewhat impressive. He’d even forged a compartment for his beverage – the mixed bottle of liquor an amicable gift from a bartender who had grown increasingly fond of the latest outsider. Tipsy and content, Miles lay with his hands folded and tucked behind his head. Thriving in the shade, the occasional squall was just potent enough to make the hammock swing, his eyes gently shut as the man appeared to sleep.

It was starting to seem that whatever she did, she could not win. No one would always be fully happy with her - which, really, she didn’t care about in the first place, but the point still stood.  What she did care about was some peace and quiet, and the uncanny ability she had to piss at least someone off always interfered with that. But really, she wasn’t even trying at this point, which made things undeniably frustrating. She did one thing and got her mother and/or Stephanos off of her back, and then six more people were lining up to be irritated with her. Thankfully, she cared not for the opinion of anyone else, but Stephanos and her mother were the two that came the closest. Spending more time with the outsider had made them both undeniably happy, even if it made her roll her eyes. It was hardly as much time as she spent with Effy, but enough to please them it seemed...but then Effy was mad at her, as were the other girls. Why had she caught his attention? Why did she always catch the attention? Teenage girls were catty regardless of location, evidently, and Naima was having none of it. Slowly separating herself from the group of girls (the only few she’d ever called friends...their disapproval hurt more than she’d like to admit to, but her exile was more or less self-induced so to not deal with it), she was spending more time on her own than anything...but then again, but wasn’t entirely abnormal either.  But the stares of others were more obvious to her now - something other than lust in the eyes of the men on the island, though she couldn’t exactly read what it was. Frustration? Something along those lines, maybe, even if she didn’t understand it. And really, she didn’t care to. With the way things were going, everyone was going to dislike or hate her soon enough...and Naima wasn’t really sure if she cared. Finding him this time was, truthfully, an accident. She really hadn’t been in the mood for company at all; she’d woken up in a sour mood, and it had remained for the duration of the day. But seclusion was necessary, and Stephanos was out looking for her...so she supposed she could put up with his company for the sake of avoiding the rest of the island. The sigh she released was heavy, and still with a good deal of grumpiness she slowly approached the hammock. It was without much care that she eased herself onto the edge of it, reaching out to (...somewhat) lightly knock the book she held into his shoulder to gain his attention, focus resting on the bottle of alcohol he had with him a moment later, which she reached for next.

One Rose

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At his laughter, Naima’s expression almost instantly morphed into a scowl - that little ghost of a smile disappeared around the cigarette as she took another drag off the end. She couldn’t help but chew on it still - she actually smoked so infrequently, she much preferred just how they looked - and did just that for half a moment. “Stop,” she finally grumbled as she exhaled. “No..not funny.” She didn’t like feeling stupid, and being forced to speak English had done just that. For a moment she found herself wishing she’d paid more attention in lessons, but then she rolled her eyes at herself. No, she didn’t. She couldn’t make herself care enough to wish that she could communicate better with an outsider. At his declaration, Naima only offered a shrug. She knew she wasn’t the best of people (or daughters, for that matter, considering the topic of their conversation), but she could certainly be worse...and she often was. Naima did as she pleased exactly as she saw fit, which was rarely in the nicest way (well, more like never). She didn’t see a reason to be nice or even polite when most conversations and interactions did little other than infuriate her. Really, her father had been the ones to hold the reigns to controlling her, and once he’d died all hope was lost. Naima wouldn’t listen to any reasoning or to anyone - she did what she wanted. In a way she didn’t quite realize, she was hypocritical. While she claimed to hate the attention she received for her looks - all of the stares, all of the admiration - she certainly did reap some of their rewards. While she had received hardly anything more than a mild grounding as a punishment, others that acted in the manner that she did would be punished far more severely. Being special had its perks, even if the rest of it was awful. As he spoke again, her expression once again changed before him. This time, it turned sour. She shook her head, and the laugh that left her was incredulous. “No,” she said, taking a final drag from the stub of a cigarette before tossing it aside. “This...” she shook her head again, idly tugging at the flower crown pinned to her hair, only setting it more off kilter. “This no me. This...no.”

His venture to the Madeira Island wasn’t exactly something he’d defined as a vacation, but Miles had spent far more time idle than he was willing to admit. Practically every time he turned around there was a woman with a foreign dish of food presented to him. Miles had learned not to explore on his own, for if he didn’t have a clear destination these dullards were literally willing to force him into their ramshackle homes. They insisted he ate - feeding the precious Outsider - it could seemingly socially elevate a family. There was the part where they offered their daughters and even their wives to him, but Miles had mastered the art of the polite decline.

He’d been lulling over this island’s obsession with sex… Naima was nothing like them. She wanted nothing to do with the customs of her own people. He noticed also that her mother hadn’t offered Naima, or herself (although she was becoming rather touchy…). He hated his thoughts, so he exiled them for the time being. Drinking, eating, and thinking. Time had never been a friend to him, but here the days seemed longer. 

When she spoke he gave a routine laugh at her poor English. Miles hid the fact that at his own request, Stephanos had delivered a few books regarding learning the Portuguese language, but he was by no means prepared to embarrass himself. Miles smiled at the fact that he was supplying with Naima with something her mother disallowed - he hadn’t the slightest clue of the violation, but it was fitting. “You’re bad,” he concluded, but it was an obvious fact at this point. 

Miles was close, but the two of them had certainly been much closer. He leaned against a pillar of stone, ogling the merrymaking of the islanders for a few moments before his soft gaze drifted to the island’s starlet. “Even if you probably don’t want to hear it… You look good cleaned up.” She looked good covered in filth, too, but that was neither here nor there.

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If Naima noticed his appraisal, she didn’t comment on it. It was far more likely that she didn’t - her tongue was held for nothing, and hardly anything irritated her more than being looked over or stared at did. It happened far too often,and had been happening for far too long. It made her so uncomfortable, and was more than enough to warrant a rant in her opinion. So many wondered why she was so desperate to leave the island, to lead a life other than the lazy and indulgent one that the island offered...and she couldn’t help but think they were utterly fucking moronic. She had never known anything but the island, but the stares and that uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she couldn’t help but want something other than that. As he spoke, she took a long pull from the bottle. She grimaced slightly as she pulled back, a light shudder running through her. Too much sweet, not enough alcohol, but she supposed it was going to have to get the job done...even if she could hardly stand the taste. She could almost hear her mother’s disapproving tone at that moment, and it caused her to take another drink.”Good,” she said after a moment with a nod, expression kept neutral. “Is...” she sighed, not particularly caring enough to really dig for a fitting word. “...stupid.” She took the cigarette with a quick word of thanks, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips before she placed the cigarete between them. She would never deny her thievery - it was normally so obvious it was nearly painful. She didn’t bother to hie it, or with subtlety. Hell, she used manipulation before running half of the time as it was. ”Home,” she said as she exhaled, this cigarette going far better than the last in his presence. The taste was still awful, but far better than the stale taste of the ruined, water-logged ones. “Mama...” she huffed a sigh again and rolled her eyes. Her mother would take them if she’d tried to sneak them. “Have to be... careful.” Not that it would stop her, but still. 

Miles, per usual, stole a few moments of blissful appreciation of the young girl standing before him. He still felt as if he knew very little about her, but he’d seen quite a few shades of Naima during the short week they had co-existed on the island. She was — before anything else — unruly, but she wasn’t without the ability to submit. She was slow to trust, but who wouldn’t be in this day and age? He was cut from the same cloth. He had questions about Stephanos regarding whether or not he’d made a mistake buying into the man’s saccharine words, but his questions seemingly couldn’t be answered by others. He would decide for himself, which, was the way it should be. 

Her innate language nearly made him chuckle, but Miles refused knowing the glare he would likely receive in response. Instead, he simply smiled and waited for Naima to amend her words. “Not exactly,” he spoke slowly —when he remembered to, Miles did his best to assist her. He wanted Naima to know his words — he yearned to talk to her after all. Miles scanned the island’s population and their feasting, but it was no secret that he didn’t belong among them. The men — the jealous fools — reminded him of that by staring daggers any chance they got. They were quite bitter. Not only of his presence on the island, but mainly because of where he was staying and whose bedroom was adjacent to his own…

Miles approached her slowly, but he felt that his encroachment wouldn’t disturb her now as much as it did during their previous encounters. At her request, Miles gave her a humored smile and nodded his head, but paused at the memory of her thievery. “What about the pack you stole from me?” Although for some bizarre reason he didn’t essentially view her thievery as treachery. If anything, her antics had humored him — even if they had forced him to barter with the sailors for an additional pack. Reaching into his pocket Miles produced a relatively new pack and seized two from the confines, presenting one to her with a faint smile. “Don’t steal these,” he motioned to the pack in his hand, unearthing a lighter and striking the flame before presenting it to the girl.

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Rubbing at one eye with the back of her hand, Naima grimaced at the sparkles that were left on the skin, wiping her hand against the skirt of her dress. She wished she’d been able to dress herself fully before her mother walked in - she always preferred to wear something beneath the ridiculous thing so that she could strip herself of it once she slipped away, but now she was trapped until she was able to sneak home. After her little adventure with Miles being trapped underground, Stephanos and her mother weren’t letting her stray very far. She felt like the two of them were constantly keeping watch, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before one of them tracked her down again. She was glad she’d had the sense to snag a bottle from one of the tables as she passed it, she only briefly examined the label before bringing it to her lips. She made a face at the taste - some sort of rum, flavored and a bit too sweet for her liking - but shrugged it off, taking another quick sip. She needed something to help her deal with people, deal with the staring, and she figured that drinking couldn’t hurt. She hadn’t heard Miles approach, and jumped slightly as she heard him speak behind her. Scowling, the grumbling she offered in Portuguese was clearly displeased, but she rolled her eyes after a moment. “What, no like...” she couldn’t think of a fitting word in English, and therefore just gestured towards the large congregation they’d both abandoned. She was mildly surprised - she was generally the only one who hated the festivities. She took one more quick swig from the bottle, licking the excess liquid away before speaking again. “...Smoke?” The question was almost hesitant, but she was bordering on desperate.

Liberation… Well, it didn’t feel as sweet as it probably should have. Miles recalled feeling like quite the fool — bearing knife and teeth at whatever appeared in that firelight… But Stephanos and his posse had been too unrealistic to be true. Stephanos — ever the augur — met Miles’ violent gaze with elevated hands. “You’re alive!” The man had shouted, running towards Miles, but right past him and to Naima…

He’d expected that — honestly. Miles didn’t desire pity, but it simply felt odd. He was quite use to being fawned over. He distinctly recalled loathing it. He watched as each of their rescuers sought her well-being. One knelt and examined her ankle and his attempt at a bandage, another checked her for additional wounds and Stephanos — he was nearly in tears. The walk back was uneventful. Bodies were between them, but he couldn’t get her out of the head, but that was just the beginning…

He’d been unusually quiet since they’d returned, but he’d spent quite a bit of his time in his head. Meeting with Stephanos daily — their talks were sadly what had kept him tame. He wasn’t sure if Naima was avoiding him or if he was avoiding her, but the three days that passed were predominantly without her. 

Miles firmly believed he had no business at the feast, but Stephanos insisted, inviting the outsider to not only attend, but to join him at the table elevated for what Miles perceived as the island’s nobility; or in simple terms: old men. If his people could see him now they’d never let him live it down. They would laugh and joke until he ultimately grew angry… And then they would promptly regret their merrymaking. Regardless — his eyes were easily tracked to Naima throughout. Of all the women he’d seen… She was definitely the one. Her beauty was the only thing Stephanos hadn’t lied about. 

It was much easier for him to slip away than it was her. Fleeing under the guise of using the restroom (even promising Stephanos he’d return, too), Miles set off after her much like he had the day they nearly fell to their doom. The ‘city’ — if it even could be called such — was extremely barren with the better part of the island’s population all drinking, or fucking. Or a combination of the two — Miles witnessed that at the tavern (again — if you can even fucking call it that) each night he’d attended. Got invited. Declined respectfully. 

Anywho, once Miles deemed their escape a success he announced his presence ten feet or so behind her. “I’m already sick of eating fish,” he groaned… Questioning why he said what he said only after he’d said it…

[naima-de-faria]

Every week it was much the same - flowy white dresses too low-cut for her tastes with sheer skirts that she did nothing but trip on, gloss on her lips and glitter on her eyes, cheeks and chest that did nothing but distract her peripherals, and most importantly, people that did nothing other than piss her off more than she could ever believe. As each moment passed by, beginning with the preparation that her mother forced her into, her frustration grew and grew. Naima was normally quite ready to pop before anything really began. But lately, the festivities had been kicked up a notch. They had someone to impress now - another reason to parade the girls out and show them off, but it seemed to be in the fine writing to make them look even more appetizing. Especially Naima, always especially Naima, considering she had been part of the bait to lure him hear. She always looked perfect for just thirty minutes or so - by then, she would have rubbed glitter into her eyes and knocked the flower crown off-center. The hem of her dress would be ripped or dragged through sand, as she had no idea how to properly maneuver in so much fabric.  This night was no exception, but her mother seemed more insistent and irritable than usual. Always fussing, always fixing, and Naima had just about enough of it. Swatting hands away, she was grumbling in Portuguese as she slipped away to a semi-familiar place amongst the other girls - at least there, while on display, she was safe from tutting and hands in her hair and dress. Slipping away was never easy, but after Stephanos had spoke (really, what he said was always lost on her...she never paid much mind to it, or to anything he said) it would be possible. Once people were eating and became more distracted by the food than by her, once some of the other girls brought attention to themselves...She slid away as quietly as she could, tripping over her skirt again as she did. Cursing her mother again for confiscating the cigarettes she’d had hidden in her bust, Naima groaned once she was out of ear shot. She needed something to keep her busy, something to help take the edge off of nerves rubbed raw. 

[naima-de-faria]

Initially, Naima’s face etched into a scowl as her cheeks further flushed. She didn’t do well with embarrassment - she never had. She was tempted to throw the cigarette at him, but that would be a second hit to her pride as she proved she was unable to smoke it. Grumbling under her breath in Portuguese, she took another pointed pull from the end of the cigarette. The urge to cough and splutter a second time was so very strong, but she managed to somehow contain it. “No laugh,” she mumbled after a moment, cheeks still hot as she ducked her chin to stare at the fire.  Distracted by his question and by trying to keep ehr lungs from ejecting from her mouth, Naima missed the first few sounds that he had picked up on. However, a few moments later, Naima noticed as he seemed to be listening for something. Then she heard it - loud colliding noises that immediately made her hair stand on end, and the panic slowly began. This wasn’t how she saw it all ending - this was a far cry from how she’d wanted to die, really. But here she was, trapped underground with someone she was only beginning to mildly tolerate and about to be killed by some underground savages or something of that sort. As he jumped to his feet, she struggled to scramble to her own. It took a bit of leaning on the cave wall beside her, but she finally managed to fully straighten. Heart pounding as the sounds further amplified, Naima wished for a weapon - a frying pan, a kitchen knife, anything that could be used to defend herself. Miles didn’t appear to have that problem - he procured two knives out of seemingly no where, and her eyes widened even further. As he spoke, she struggled to translate as real, raw fear kicked in. The word run was clear, and she almost laughed aloud. How was she supposed to run when she could hardly walk As the voices came closer (or so she assumed, it was hard to tell with the echoing), fight or flight kicked in, and the choice was obvious to her. She shook her head, reaching forward to lightly tug on his arm. “Go now.”Why wait for something to appear that could be the end of both of them, when they could give themselves a head start. “No wait, go now.”

Her Leitmotif.

Smoking was the only thing Miles could never quite quit. Sure — it was bad for you; however, the fucking world is bad for you. A man like Miles Florence had no aspirations of living a long, boring life. Short and fulfilled — he was content with simply having witnessed the fall of modern society. He’d seen it. Fought it. Lost. But Miles swam with the current. It battered him — molded him, but he’d never let it fully change him. When he said he wasn’t a brute like the others he’d meant it. And his word, above everything else, was what he valued the most.

He tried not to chuckle at her coughing fit, but failed miserably. Miles abridged his laughter for her sake, noticing her blushing and averting his cobalt gaze. He hated when he did that — when he allowed himself to notice just how beautiful she was. He hated Stephanos for being absolutely correct… It almost sickened him, somehow. 

The noise was faint, but Miles had heard it without a doubt. He didn’t act on it yet — Naima was still clearly lulling over her answer that wouldn’t be. His head stretched to identify the source, but outside of what little light they’d mustered was the darkness that Naima humorously feared. Suddenly it amplified — a rock or something equally massive falling and colliding with the unstable floor beneath them. Miles jumped up, moving in front of Naima and now brandishing a knife that you wouldn’t have guessed him to have on his person. There were voices, but there were indiscernible given the multitude of their echoes. “If they overtake me… run. Don’t stop and hide either: run.” He was surprisingly calm, glancing at her one final time before taking a few steps closer to the encroachment. She could see him, again, reach into his left boot and produce a second, smaller knife, spinning it almost eagerly between his fingers as the voices got closer, and closer, and closer.