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Quarantine is the worst.
Sasha didn’t think she would have this much of a problem with it, if she was being honest with herself. She was used to being in small, cramped spaces - what was one more? Other London feels like a lifetime ago, and she thinks that that specifically is the problem.
After feeling what freedom is, it’s hard to go back into confinement.
It’s worse this time around. (The first time they had been quarantined wasn’t ideal , but Hamid and Grizzop are both small enough, even in the cell, and Sasha had been too relieved about Zolf being back to really think hard about it.) Now, though, there are way too many people for the size of this space, even if Zolf had promised to make the cell a bit bigger tomorrow, when he wasn’t exhausted from the fight and, also, drunk.
Barnes is on the stairs - Zolf seems to have put the entire court martialing thing behind him, but Sasha is keeping one eye open in case Barnes gets any other ideas. (Zolf had watched her with amusement as she’d tried to subtly put herself between him and Barnes before explaining that it was all water under the bridge.) Carter is in the corner of the cell, curled up into a tight little ball and snoring loudly. Cel had managed to hang a hammock earlier, and they’re asleep as well, hand clutching the bottle of Elvish mead that Carter had managed to produce. Grizzop is under them, on the opposite side of the cell from Carter, armour sitting off against the wall, mixed in with Azu’s. Azu and Hamid are curled up outside the cell, sitting against the far wall. Azu’s head is tilted back, and Sasha won’t be surprised if she starts snoring as well soon too. Hamid had been one of the last of the group to drift to sleep, but eventually he’d snuggled in against Azu’s side and his breathing had evened out.
Zolf and Sasha are sat against the far wall next to the small table; they’re the only two still awake, unless Barnes is just being incredibly quiet for no reason. Sasha takes another sip of the vodka in her hand and slumps a bit, sliding down the wall until her head is mostly level with Zolf’s.
“... M’glad you’re back,” she mumbles, and Zolf blinks at her.
“I think I should be the one saying that to you,” he says. “S’been eighteen months, yeah? Didn't know if you. If any of you. Were alive or dead. Thought you’d died. Grieved like you had.”
“But I’m not dead,” Sasha says, like it’s a great rebuttal, and Zolf pauses, considering.
“No,” he says. “I suppose you’re not.”
It’s - okay, Sasha really isn't the best at, like, reading people or interpreting tone, but there’s almost a sense of wonder in Zolf’s voice, like it was something he hadn’t accepted until now.
“Did you -“ she starts, turning too fast and having to pause as her head spins. “What, did you think we were… halluc - halluch - hallucinations , or something?”
Zolf’s too quiet, for a moment. “At first? Yeah. A bit. But, you know. Wilde saw you too, so. Figured it couldn’t be.”
Oh. That’s… Zolf had said, back then, how strange it was, but Sasha hasn’t really thought about how odd it must be to have your long-thought-dead friends turn up out of nowhere and, quite literally, crash back into your life. Eighteen months passed by in the blink of an eye for them, eighteen months that Zolf and Wilde and the other two had lived through, and it’s. Well, it’s proper weird, that. Weird enough for Sasha. Probably weirder for Zolf, considering.
“What happened?” she asks, thoughts a little fuzzy from the booze, and Zolf swings his head around to look at her. His eyes are hazy as well, and he seems like he’s having a hard time focusing on her.
“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific,” Zolf says, speaking slowly as though that will stop his words from slurring. “What happened when?”
Sasha messily gestures to the mop of white hair on top of his head and the matching beard. It’s been pulled out of the neat plait it’s normally kept in. “This whole. Thing. Thought people went grey, not went white.”
Zolf snorts. “You’re one to talk,” he says, poking the discoloured white spot in her hair. “And you’re younger than I am.”
Sasha swats his hand away. “I’m being serious, Zolf.”
“I told you. Broke up with Poseidon,” Zolf says, eyes slipping shut. “Wasn’t going to be. Er. An afterthought. Second choice? One of those two. Told him to go shove it, woke up without my legs and without my magic.”
“What, did you like… go scream at an ocean, or something? Stab the waves?” Sasha asks, laughing a bit at the mental image. Zolf goes quiet next to her, shifting a bit where he sits, and Sasha cocks her head. “What… did you do, Zolf?”
Zolf opens his eyes, a thousand-yard stare looking out over the dark jail cell around them. “Went and screamed at the ocean. Stabbed a wave,” he says, tone wry.
“Be serious,” Sasha says, and Zolf sighs.
“I am. Amelia ended up bringing me back from Prague. Next stop on her journey was Greece, so. Decided to get off there and try and… dunno. Forget? Do… something? ” Zolf leans his head back against the wall and looks up. “Didn't go the way I expected. All my magic felt… wrong. It hurt. Burned when I tried to use it. Told Poseidon he was wrong, that I wasn’t up for it. He, er. Agreed. I guess.”
“Well, good for you, then, boss,” she says, nodding. “Well done! Really told him how it was, yeah?”
“Of a sort,” Zolf grumbles. “Never really felt like it fit, anyway. More like… it was the thing to do? You know. Navy. Ocean. Was already the ship’s de facto doctor, basically.”
“So you joined the cult after the navy?” Sasha asks, settling more comfortably against the wall. Zolf nods.
“Joined up with the navy, met some good people. Few of them cult members themselves. It was something… secure, I guess. Something to cling on to,” he says, and that thousand-yard stare is back.
“You joined up after your brother died, didn’t you?” Sasha asks, and Zolf looks pained, ashamed almost, but nods.
“Ran away. Yeah. Not, er,” he pauses, and his hand comes up to his chest, grasping at something that isn’t there anymore. Instead, he twists the ring on his finger, staring down at it like it holds a single answer. “Not my proudest moment.”
“... I’m sorry,” Sasha says. “About. All that. I hadn’t, er. Realised.”
Zolf shrugs. “You’re not the one who did it.”
There’s an awkward silence for a moment, and Sasha changes the subject.
“So, now you can…” She wiggles her fingers to indicate magic, and a distant memory of Bertie waggling his finger and getting distracted comes back to her. Everything is… so different, now. Less simple than it used to be.
“That didn’t come back until Wilde pulled me into the project,” Zolf explains, and holds his hand out in front of him. A small glow forms in the middle, turning into a small spiral of stars, and then it vanishes. “It was just me at the start. Wilde recruited Carter. I ran into Barnes at the front, grabbed him and brought him into the fold. Magic came back after that. Slowly, yeah, but. It did.”
“Huh,” Sasha says, and Zolf nods.
“Huh indeed,” he agrees. “Thought, er. Thought it was. Poseidon. For a bit. Daft of me, really. Turns out it’s just. Well. Me. I suppose.”
“Oh, you’re alright,” Sasha says.
Zolf snorts. “Thank you for that ringing endorsement.”
Sasha cracks a smile at that. “Always did have a way with words.” She stifles a yawn, and Zolf glances up at her before looking at the small window leading to the outside.
“Gods, it’s later than I thought,” he mutters. “Here.” He reaches over to one of the stones, messing about with it.
“No, Zolf, I -“ Sasha starts, thinking he’s about to pull out another Harrison Campbell. She’s really not a fan - he’s a lovely man and all, but romance has never really been her style, and, plus, she’s really tired. But instead, Zolf pulls out a blanket. It’s a little ratty, a little torn, but it looks soft as anything. He hands it over to her and then pulls out another for himself, sliding down until he’s laying on the ground and using it as a pillow.
“Comfy?” he asks, and Sasha shrugs.
“As much as I can be on a stone floor. Cheers, boss,” she says, and pulls the blanket around her shoulders.
Zolf sighs, content, and Sasha lets her eyes slip shut. Her head is still spinning a bit from the alcohol, but she’s gone from being proper drunk to pleasantly this side of tipsy, and she knows she’s going to be out like a light.
“Still not really your boss,” Zolf reminds her, but there’s a bit more life in his tone. It’s something about the familiarity - she knows Zolf isn't the boss, not really, but there’s something comforting about old habits. “Night, Sasha.”
“Night,” Sasha replies, and within a few moments, Zolf’s breathing evens out and he begins to snore, louder than the rest of them. It’s comforting, almost - the sounds of her friends all around her, and she settles in for a peaceful night.