Respire [Open]

I can’t keep doing this.
Think it’s better this way.
Packed your things. Be gone by morning.
-Bran

The note was held within the tightness of her grasp, crumpled, creased, and corroded at the edges, dampened and distorted from tears long dried away. The blurred ink was harder to make out than it had been this morning, yet the message still rang clear through Tarra’s heart as she sat and read over it again. This was over, this journey that had began nearly a year ago. Memories that had bound Bran and herself together, all summed and soured by a few sentences on weathered paper. The sleepless nights filled with truth so deep it seemed bottomless, like trenches beneath an ocean floor. The way they had looked at each other, spoke and embraced one another; When did things start to become like they were? Inevitably the abyssal depths would swallow this sinking ship upon which they sailed. Am I the cause of our descent? Or are we chained to anchors pulling ourselves below? How did she arrive at this crossroads? Was this the inevitable destination of the path she walked? She mused over this silently under the awning of a café that had yet to open, possibly picked for that very reason.

It was true Bran did not adhere he so passionately desired to live up to, and perhaps that was what brought this on. They both shared a dream to see a new Vegeta, a better Vegeta, one that could be looked to by other worlds as a pinnacle of prosperity. Though when something was actually to be done about it, Tarra walked into this proverbial forest alone. Whatever plans for the future they had were now passing fantasies. A fiction Tarra once felt was worth trading in for the reality in which she sat. An echo of existence, subsist in this commencement. What was to be done with this pit in her stomach? What of the lacking sense of direction? Limitations had escaped thus, contrary to accepted thesis. For the longest time the saiyan felt she knew where to go, how to handle whatever situations that had been handed to her. She had pushed herself into a world darker than the wings of these dreams, and now danced like a compass hopelessly trying to find its north. Unbound by attachments, only memories still bound Tarra to this place.

Tarra silently cursed herself for sitting here like this, staring at an epitaph to the past in reminiscence. She shook her head, letting her fingers ball into a fist, coiling around the note as it was squeezed tightly. It would be arrogant, if not contradictory, to claim she did not care. Though some part of her believed that was how Bran saw things, that Tarra possibly held no empathy for the situation or its circumstances which led them here. The saiyan’s brow would furrow as she buried her face in her arms, teeth gritting as she fought back the urge to scream. The pain began to fester as a rage within, all while she questioned silently over and over what she had done wrong. Tarra had never meant for Leek’s men to confront Bran over contracts, nor believe they would take out their frustrations on him. They both knew undermining Leek and his operations might help employment in the area; the economy of the lower class districts couldn’t thrive solely on the entrepreneurship of an underground kingpin.

Though perhaps the story about the steel mill had been the last straw for Bran. Maybe he couldn’t handle those thugs coming back to his house again, even if it wasn’t a guaranteed certainty. Tarra knew Bran was capable of seeing passed her walls, could glimpse an altruistic heart beneath the frostbitten air. It was inevitable that she should accept what was to be, rather than what she longed to have. He wouldn’t budge in how he felt, and neither would she. Such was the bitterness of the paradigm. With a sigh the saiyan raised her head, directing her focus toward the streets to glimpse the abundance of carefree smiles. She would grimace internally at the nonchalant joy that consumed these oblivious pedestrians, all whom passed her by without a second glance.

Tarra rose from her seat upon feeling this place spent in its usefulness. Her feet would guide her through the crowded streets, betwixt busy shops to and fro, winding a twisted path across the city. Before the sun had risen to its peak for the day, the wanderer would find herself standing in a familiar scenery. Tarra stood within a small garden on the backside of the archives, still in ruins, but still standing nonetheless. From what she could tell since her last visit, it remained a neglected part of the capital. Perhaps there was no value of history in today’s Kingdom, who could really say. The mountain of rubble from the east wall still filled a portion of the garden; the disheveled interiors to that wing illuminated by a sun peeking through scattered clouds. The leaves of the overshadowing tree would give a rustle in the embrace of a soft breeze.

”Hello, Mother.” Tarra knelt into the grass, raising a hand to wipe a coating of dirt from the name on the headstone. She looked it over briefly for any signs of corrosion, only to present a weak smile to silently convey her satisfaction. She believed in earnest this woman deserved better, that this mediocre rock did her memory little justice. Tarra’s eyes wandered up into the tree branches when she took notice of the budding flowers. It wouldn’t be long until they would take her mother’s favorite color, just as they did every year before. ”I suppose my presence here comes as no surprise to you. I have failed...again, though I am certain that also was to be expected.” There was no answer. Tarra bowed her head as she took a breath, swallowing loneliness as she cleared her throat. ”Perhaps things worsen for the better. Who can truly say? Such speculations are beyond me at this point. It is no wonder I find myself back here.”

The sound of approaching footsteps would pull the saiyan from her pensive contemplation, her eyes narrowing as she glimpsed to the source. ”You’re not an easy one to find.” Tarra stood to gaze upon a trio of brutes recognizable from Leek’s now disbanded fight club. Though it was easy enough to see that none of these men were at all pleased about it. Indubitable it was that they were here for that reason alone, yet on whose behalf was not ascertained. Were Leek still breathing, Tarra suspected he would have stepped forth with a grandiose entrance and prepared speech. Though it would seem this trio was alone in this endeavor. ”Damn girl! Oughta know it’s all your fault, ya!?” one of the brutes would bellow at the girl. Tarra crossed her arms and gave the group an incredulous one over, unimpressed and rather annoyed that these idiots would disturb her here of all places.

”Oh? I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific. A lot of things are my fault.” The sultry sarcasm did little to dissuade the elated temperament of the fighters. Tarra didn’t care in the slightest for their opinions, nor for whatever wrong they wished to right by showing up here. They had intruded upon her mother’s garden, trespassed upon ground that held sanctity to the saiyan. That alone would be cause enough to hurt these louts if they tried anything. One began popping his knuckles, another rotating an arm to loosen a shoulder, while the third stepped forward to intimidate the girl with his size. He would huff and smirk down at the unamused saiyan, before pointing a large, stubby finger at her chest. Tarra cocked a brow, arms folding as a venomous glare found her face.

”Our club you damn meddler! You destroyed our club. So we’re here to destroy you.”

Tarra: 4,000 PL