The atmosphere has been tense in both cities ever since the new batch of refugees were shot down out of the sky. Natives and refugees alike will note that things are steadily growing worse and worse... until suddenly, the tension snaps. Chaos erupts on one seemingly ordinary night and will continue until early March, when it all comes to a head. The question is, as always... what will you do?
You may submit an AC-eligible thread set in either Olympia or Wyver for 1 OLYMPIA REP POINT OR 1 WYVER REP POINT respectively, HERE or HERE, so long as the thread involves your character complying with their faction of choice's goals and responsibilities.
As a note, faction compliance in this case refers to actions that benefit the faction in the long term. Meaning that while citizens might be revolting against one another temporarily, assisting their fellow people and business will be considered as faction compliance for the purposes of submitting REP. (For example, raiding the palace in Olympia would earn 1 Wyver REP, whereas helping put out the fires in the palace would earn 1 Olympia REP.)
You may write threads and prompts in both cities, but ICly, they should take place on different days.
Please also note that travel between factions is heavily scrutinized during the events of this log. If your character travels between cities, please report it here. EMBERS IN OUR BLOODLINES
CHAOS ERUPTS. The city hasn't been exactly peaceful for some time — discontented grumbles have been directed at anyone who exhibits even the slightest amount of pro-Wyver (anti-Olympian) sentiment — but now, the tensions have not simply worsened: they've outright snapped.
It wouldn't be unusual to start your day to the sound of breaking glass. Perhaps it's a neighbor's window, or if you're truly unlucky, it's your own. Regardless, it's clear that there are a number of people who decide that violence is the answer. Well-armed shops such as The Sharper are left alone, but The Silk Wyrms, The Wyvernest, and other smaller businesses aren't so lucky. Visit the tailor, and you'll find that someone has broken in and slashed many of the in-progress custom orders; at the dragon cafe, someone has set many of the miniature dragons loose in a bid to purge the city of anything tainted by Wyver's influence. Many shopkeeps are fearful that the culprits might return. They're offering good silver for anyone who will retrieve stolen goods, round up the missing dragons, or find proof of who the culprits were — and for protection in case the culprits return. Linger, and you'll be in a position to potentially stop a repeat attack when the rioters come back with torches and bricks.
Members of the Royal Guard have their hands full with the fights breaking out to attend to every instance of violence against the businesses. Shouting in the squares escalates into bloody brawls — and if you spend any time outside, you'll soon see why. There's a strange mist in the most populated parts of the city, which you may recognize as having similar effects to the waters of Flona Cove that lower one's inhibitions. It spurs those who would usually agree to disagree into shouting matches, and influences people who would normally shout into throwing punches. Members of the Guard, usually a mediating force, are joining the fray themselves.
Even you aren't immune to the mist's effects. Whether you're protecting your home or place of employment, chasing down vandals, rounding up escaped dragons from the dragon cafes, or even just observing what's going on with someone else, you're likely doing it much more aggressively than you typically would... but then, this level of aggression seems to be becoming Olympia's new normal.
SINNERS TO PLAY AS SAINTS. The theaters are miraculously untouched, but The Life and Death of Nithor the Exalted is no longer being put on. Instead, passers-by are being pulled onstage to play out other scenes from Olympia's glorious history. Those who don't want to play along don't have much of a choice; those orchestrating the scenes have people out in the crowds to bring people up by force if necessary.
The base scenario is simple enough: the noble Olympian puts the pathetic Wyvern in their place. Perhaps it's a fight scene: the Olympian comes out on top, of course, and the crowd roars for blood. Wyver weapons are only props, however, but the Olympian weapons? They're very, very real. Or perhaps it's a callback to when the Olympian people marked captured Wyverns with brands to assert their dominance — there is real fire, and real brands, on stage.
If you pass as Olympian, you may be pressed to perform. If you don't want to really hurt someone, you'd best learn how to fake it — refuse to play your part, and the crowd will very quickly turn against you. If you're too obviously not Olympian, or if they recognize you as someone who went off-script last time (and they have very good memory), you'll likely be pressed into the role of an unfortunate Wyvern. Hopefully your co-star is gentle...
Break a leg. Literally, as the case may be.
CRITICAL CONDITION. With all the chaos, it's only a matter of time before people start to seek medical attention. However, along the way to The Sanctuary, they'll be faced with an almost insurmountable barricade. It isn't immediately obvious who put it up, but it's clear that nobody will be getting through it without significant effort.
Approach, and a voice will ring out warning you to keep back. It's one of the employees at the clinic; she has a crossbow in her shaking hands, and if pressed, she'll admit that they put up the barricade to keep out rioters. She understands that there are people who need their help, but the decision was made to keep themselves and their supplies safe so that when the dust settles, they can set out en masse and help more people than they could if they were raided.
If you're accompanied by someone with grievous injuries, or if you're terribly injured yourself, you may be able to convince her to let you in for a quick patch-up, but they're not giving any medicines out. If you need more supplies, you'll have to figure out another way of getting it — either by overpowering the woman on watch and raiding the clinic yourself, or distracting her so that other members of your group can sneak in and take what they need.
Making matters worse is the gigantic vulture-like creature, much larger than the birds in Murkwell Hollow... and much meaner. This beast doesn't wait for eye contact before it attacks: it swoops down out of the sky when people are gathered at the barricade, snatching up anyone it can grab in its talons, fixing on whoever's closest. However, if someone who killed a vulture is present, it pursues them with relentless determination. If not dealt with, it will attempt to eat the dead and the injured without discrimination. It can be driven off with high difficulty using weapons, magical abilities (except fire, which doesn't affect it), and the terrain to your advantage. It will retreat before it can be killed, presumably so that it can regroup and harry the next batch of people to get close to the barricade.
As it retreats it will drop feathers that can be sold to the Institute for study for 100 silver; one feather per character, please. Sales can be reported here.
PALACE BURNS. Chaos reigns for the better part of a week, and toward the end, it escalates past the point of rioting in the streets — the violence reaches Empress Simwe's palace. In the gardens where Olympians and refugees alike had lit lanterns in unity and remembrance mere weeks before, one careless (or perhaps not so careless) flame catches, spreading to the rest of the grounds and to one of the palace walls. The members of the Royal Guard, already stretched thin, are too preoccupied with trying to contain the blaze to stop anyone from pouring in through the breach.
It's an opportunity that looters and dissidents do not pass up.
Follow them in, and you'll find the elegant surroundings being torn apart. Many of the rioters are those who have it out for Simwe and are hunting for her. As she's nowhere to be found, they settle for the next best thing: setting torch to her portraits. Portraits of the late emperor, on the other hand, are left untouched. The vandals are incredibly vocal in their displeasure with Simwe's policies, and almost fanatical in their opinion that life in Olympia would be much better if Simwe had perished in her husband's place. They turn to violence when the frightened maids and other servants don't have the answers they want as they leave a trail of fire in their wake. Will you use them as a smokescreen for your own venture, or will you intervene?
Further inside, the sticky-fingered will find furnishings, clothing, jewelry — anything that isn't bolted down is fair game. In the library, the gilded titles of priceless books glitter on the shelves; in the wine cellar, Simwe's personal collection of extremely fine vintages waits to be sampled; a mirrored room furnished entirely with pillows is draped in lacy underthings; fragrant salts and bottles of perfume sit in a steam-filled bathing room; in the treasury, looters are hard at work squirrelling away silver and carrying off golden baubles. Nobody looks too closely at anyone's face unless given a reason to, but in the morning, heads will certainly roll. You could make off with your own treasure from the palace with none the wiser, or you could stop one of the looters — maybe it's even a fellow refugee — and turn them in to the guard to help restore some order to this night of chaos.
In the depths of the treasury, there is a group trying to get past a sealed door. They're an unpleasant, volatile lot, and they make a lot of noise about how if they can just get their hands on the heart of the legendary dragon, they'll be able to wipe Wyver from the map once and for all and put someone competent on the throne. After multiple failed attempts, they start offering a reward of 50 silver to anyone who makes an attempt at opening the door.
ABOUT THE DOOR: The inner treasury door is enchanted to stand up to all manner of assaults, both magical and physical. Any attempts to dispel the enchantment will fail, but characters are welcome to make attempts in exchange for cash. While minor force will be harmlessly absorbed by the shields on the door, anything of great strength will be reflected back at its point of origin — so be ready to dodge!
Whether you help the Guard put out the fire, steal from the palace, try and get past the enchanted door, or make attempts to stop the looters, your actions may have consequences later. Please report any significant actions you take here.
NOTE: Characters are welcome to steal a single minor, setting-appropriate item from the palace. Mod approval is not required. Any items of greater import in the palace are locked in a vault and inaccessible.
BLOOD ON MY HANDS LIKE THE BLOOD IN YOU
FOR GLORY. Meanwhile, in Wyver, the holiday celebrating Nithor's death may have finished, but the spirit is still high. The citizens, eagerly awaiting the results of the contest from earlier in the month, congregate at a large stadium in the East End on the morning of the 21st and encourage refugees to join them — not only will the contest winner be announced, but there will be a series of physical trials to select Wyver's best and brightest.
This yearly event is considered the true end to the holiday. They honor those who excel at the arts — whether they be standard arts or the art of combat — and with these trials, they will honor those who excel on the battlefield. King Shanrian himself speaks to kick off the festivities, holding a distinctly human skull in his hands the entire time he's in view.
 Everyone, join me in praising the winners of our citywide contest! I was, heh... quite delighted with the meat jelly dish submitted by citizens Clair and Frederick. Such creativity! Meanwhile, dear Shenya loved hearing the beautiful music provided by Diva and Tani Umenosuke. And as you all well know, his vote is my vote.
Now I speak to you on a more serious note: I encourage all of you to join the legacy of those who helped bring down the mad and oppressive Nithor. I ask you all to join the trials. Show the world that we are a people of honor. For we do not seek glory, but fairness, liberty, and truth. Citizens, do you have what it takes to represent your home?
Signing up is simple. Interested parties are to submit their name at the registration desk, and by high noon, the festivities will kick off in full.
First up is a tournament — to thin the numbers down and ensure that only the best of the best make it to the end, participants are matched to a fight until one side is incapacitated. The air is thick with excitement, and bouts continue all day and through the night. Vendors have set up temporary stalls to sell food, toiletries, pillows, and blankets for those who don't wish to miss even a moment of the action.
If you're participating, you will take part in three fights before the finalists are determined; if you are not, you will be free to watch from the audience or, if you're acquainted with people who are fighting, to go behind the scenes to assist them by bringing them water or medicine between matches or even just give them moral support. Either way, you'll notice a slight shift in the air as time goes by.
Midway through the preliminary matches, the atmosphere changes from enthusiastic to outright bloodthirsty. Observers who were content to see a knock out will call for blood. People will start to clamor for the losers to lose their lives, and audience members will find themselves itching for a fight. One wrong look and the fighting might not just be constrained to the ring.
Make it through to the finals, and your trial will be more focused on teamwork: after all, the assassins who took down Nithor had to work together to get their job done. Finalists are paired off to face a variety of beasts, some from Wyver, some from Olympia, and some from other, far-flung parts of the isles. There is no set number of winners — anyone who performs well will be honored with a prize of silver at the end — but the beasts are ferocious, and it will take coordination and exceptional skill to make it out unscathed.
Either way, it's sure to be a spectacle.
HEARTY DIETS. The city's atmosphere does not become peaceful with the conclusion of the trials. Wherever you turn, the people around you seem to be more combative than usual - and in this city, that can be quite the feat.
To mark the end of another successful set of trials, the shamans of the Altar of Volkkra make dragon's blood, which they partake in for one of their rituals, more widely available to the public. Most drink it straight, although there are some who take it mixed in with other drinks. Either way, the effects are the same:
Drinking dragon's blood will feel like drinking liquid fire. It will burn the entirety of its way down and leave you with a presence in your chest that you will carry with you for three days before wearing off. It is a warmth that seems to imbue you with the strength and confidence of the dead dragon. The adrenaline will minimize any great pains, and you will have the sense that the path you choose is right.
Unfortunately, there is a downside. The dragon blood will keep you restless until the effects wear off. Confidence will turn into mindless arrogance. If you and your companion both drink the blood, you will butt heads because you will believe the other is wrong. Additionally, you may experience the need to hoard. The shamans say it is a trial you must endure to learn not to overindulge, but to someone who has never drank before, the feeling will be overwhelming.
Dragon's blood isn't the only variety to partake in. This time of year, the blood of a variety of monsters can be found to drink; it's said that consuming a creature's blood will imbue you with that creature's power. Whether this is true or not remains to be seen — some insist it's a rumor, while others swear its veracity — but fueled by the confidence the dragon's blood has drawn out of them, the natives are very insistent that you try it out, and some may even challenge you to a blood-drinking contest.
There are some who say that they've managed to procure the blood of Olympians, and that ingesting it will sap the strength of the Olympian people and bestow it upon Wyver instead. Some Wyvern natives aren't willing to allow the blood of their most hated enemies past their lips and would instead use Olympian blood to paint out scenes of their destruction, either on the walls like the murals or on charms from the Altar of Volkkra, as it is said to have the same effect. If you're offered some of this "paint," it's probably better to accept. After all, refusal would be very un-Wyvernlike, and you wouldn't want to be marked as the next target for someone hoping to procure Olympian blood, would you?
FANNING FLAMES. Since the trials, natives have lit bonfires throughout the city as a way of showing support for their favorite contenders; the belief is that as long as the flames continue to be fed, the contender will continue to fight well. Even now that the trials are over, the flames burn bright. These contenders are Wyver's hope of victory over Olympia, after all; isn't it better to keep the fires ablaze until they've brought the Olympians to their knees?
But it isn't just wood that they're using for kindling. This time they want a more personal offering. Many of the natives will shed their own blood to throw into the fire, and still more roam the streets in search of people to feed to the flames. You might find yourself one of their targets if you've been too noticeably traveling between the cities on a regular basis, or if you've made the mistake of donning the Olympian colors of white and gold even in a subtle way. Perhaps you come off as a loyal citizen of Wyver, and they've tapped you to assist them with feeding a person to the flames — If you refuse, you might face scrutiny yourself.
Chaos is on the rise. It's a bastardization of celebration that has long since gotten out of hand, although few seem inclined to try and contain it. Those who do are mainly shouted down or silenced by other means, and if you're looking to assist them in quelling the unrest, you'll have to be subtle lest you wind up facing the citizens' ire.
Luckily, there is something to provide a distraction: a gigantic vulture-like creature, much larger than the birds from Murkwell Hollow, has come to hunt . When it descends, it makes to grab anyone with its talons, with one exception — if anyone who killed a vulture in Murkwell is nearby, it will ignore the others and focus its attempts on tearing them apart with a relentless, single-minded determination. If not driven off, the dead and the injured will become its next meal, and it has no qualms about diving into the flames to snatch up bodies, as it's unharmed by fire. It can be driven off with high difficulty using weapons, magical abilities (other than fire), and the terrain to your advantage, but will retreat before it can be killed so that it can regroup and make another attempt at snatching up bodies later.
As it retreats it will drop feathers that can be sold to the Altar of Volkkra for experimentation for 100 silver; one feather per character, please. Sales can be reported here.
BEASTLY EXHIBITS.The shamans of Volkkra, perhaps under the influence of dragon's blood, have their own way of dealing with the unrest. Throughout the week, those protesting the chaos start to vanish, and either from rumors or direct observation it will soon become obvious why: they're being brought to the main Altar of Volkkra, all the way up on Namarak Summit. If you have been attempting to calm people down, you might just find yourselves taken; otherwise, you can tail the shamans to the summit to find what's going on for yourself.
Those taken to the main altar are blindfolded and thrust into the labyrinthine halls without a flame to guide their way. Shamans guard the entrances and exits; inside, all light but that of the Eternal Flame have been extinguished. Other shamans, who take part in the rumored experiments, roam the halls with wicked-looking knives in search of new test subjects. If they come across you, you'll need to either fight or run.
It is possible to escape this, either by overpowering them or by using your wits. It's even possible to find your way to the entrance and fight your way past the shamans guarding it — but the when the first person sets foot out of the halls, the shamans call for backup. Menacing shrieks and roars sound from inside the mazelike halls, and strange, mishmashed creatures emerge from the darkness.
They're angry, and they're willing to lash out at both refugee and shaman alike.
ABOUT THE MONSTERS: They are amalgamations of people and creatures from all over the isles, and each one is different. One might have the head of a Duldrum, the torso and arms of a man, and the lower half of a Glowing Snake; another might look like a Wispurr with a second head of an Unlucky Cat grafted onto it, and the abilities to match. The shamans seem to have been mixing and matching the features and abilities of both named and unnamed creatures as they see fit, and they've whipped them up into a frenzy — these chimeras crave blood, and will not stop until their targets are dead, or they are.
They can be killed with medium difficulty using your own weapons, supplies from the Altar, and any abilities you might possess; survive, and the shamans will let you go with 200 silver as compensation, having decided that you've proven your worth and that your strength may be an asset to Wyver in the future. If your character successfully kills a chimera, please report it here.
An AC-eligible thread in which your character complies with their faction's goals for 1 REP POINT FOR EITHER OLYMPIA OR WYVER may be submitted from this log. SUBMIT THE THREAD FOR OLYMPIA OR WYVER HERE OR HERE RESPECTIVELY BY MARCH 14th 11:59 PM EST.
We will no longer be providing overflow posts. In an event where the post hits CAPTCHA, players are advised to move threads to an overflow post on their character journals or create their own catch-all post. These threads remain eligible for AC, AC Rewards, and REP.
1 SILVER = 1 US DOLLAR.
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It is not okay.
[ take it easy? how nice it must be for him, to shrug it all off as if it's nothing, to act as if these last panicked, violent days are no big deal. the tensions have been rising between the cities for several weeks now, it has been impossible to ignore, impossible not to absorb, and now this - how close she came to losing him yet again..
his hand on her shoulder is meant to calm, but it seems to have the opposite effect; alisaie's eyes flash furiously. ]
Nothing about this is fine, Prompto. You were a moment away from burning alive, I would never have known -
[ her exhale hisses out through her teeth, and alisaie closes her eyes in an attempt to calm herself, but her jaw will not unclench. ]
We should never have stayed here. Things are only going to get worse.
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He breathes in a trembling breath, withdrawing his hand. ]
I - I know, I - [ He turns to lean against the counter, tipping his head back, letting the coolness of the makeshift ice pack wash over him.
He messed up again. What, he's not exactly sure, but it's evident enough that on top of everything else, she's mad at him, and he's too tired, too drawn to get into this right now. ]
I-I'm sorry. I - should've been more careful.
[ Because that's the issue, right? He got himself into needless danger once again. It could have all so swiftly gone so much worse. That's on him. ]
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[ i mean - yes, she is often exasperated by his recklessness, his naivete, how willingly he seems to walk into perilous situations without thinking.. but she is hardly better. perhaps it is for different reasons than his own, but still, she jumps into danger quickly. ]
I am not fishing for an apology. I just -
[ she sighs, scrubbing her palms over her face. he's tired, and injured, mayhaps now is not the time for this. ]
Never you mind. Go get some rest.
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And then there's...the way she says that. The way she dismisses him instead of addressing what's on her mind. It makes his stomach clench uncomfortably. Alisaie so rarely is indirect, preferring to hit things head on rather than beat around the bush. But this...
His eyes narrow, scrutinizing her as he lowers the ice pack. ]
No, tell me. Is it - you're upset we live here. I picked this place for us to live. Is...is that it?
[ The thought does sting. He picked out this home so meticulously. She told him she loved it. Had she wanted to be somewhere else this whole time? Somewhere they could be safer? They knew the tensions existed between the cities, but how could either of them seen something like this coming?
He certainly didn't. ]
no subject
Enough. I am not here to indulge your self-pity, Prompto, do not insult me.
[ but if he wants it straight? she gave him the opportunity to escape to bed, but if he would prefer her to vent her spleen, then so be it. ]
If it were up to me? No, of course I would not have stayed in Wyver. Or Olympia. You know that full well, I made no secret of it. Our home is beautiful, but this is exactly the sort of.. mess that I wanted to avoid. To not choose sides. To not get involved.
sweater song.mp3
Except that's not exactly what's happening, because Prompto doesn't really even understand what they're fighting about. Is she upset at him, or at the city? It all ties back to the decision to live here, doesn't it? Then why wouldn't she just let him apologize and get it over with?
It's like she doesn't even want to hear his attempts to defuse the situation. Like she wants to be mad.
Crossing his arms, he gives her a slanted look, mouth curved down at its corners. ]
If it were up to you? I...didn't realize anyone was making you stay here.
[ It's not that simple, and he knows it, but she doesn't feel like he forced her to live here, does she? ]
lord..
Gods, do you ever listen to yourself when you speak? I understand that you enjoy the sound of your own voice, but mayhaps you should pay more attention to the words that come out of your mouth.
[ she's being harsh, and she knows it, but she's just so frustrated, and his self-absorbed pity for himself is incredibly tiring; sometimes it feels as if she's speaking to a wall. many times she has promised that no matter how he berates himself, that she will always be there to tell him otherwise.. perhaps he had not always expected that support to be so.. forceful. ]
I was not implying that, and you know it, it is called compromise, though yes, mayhap I am coming to regret having relented so easily.
no subject
That's why she's yelling at him, isn't it? That's why she's lashing out. That's why it hurts, too, because he knows she's right.
Abruptly, he throws up his hands. ]
What do you want me to say, Alisaie? You won't let me apologize. You don't want to hear that I'm sorry. Just - tell me what you want me to do to make this better!
[ Because he hates this. He hates this aching feeling, the sting of her words, the fear, even now, after everything, that she might walk away from him at any moment, that she's finally seen him for all he is.]
no subject
[ because really, that's the only possible reason he could have for dodging her point again and again so spectacularly, with all the expert flexibility of a gymnast. he hears only what he wants to hear, twists it all around to feed his sense of self-worth, and usually it pains her to see, it makes her heart twist up in knots.
but patience and kindness do not seem to have gotten them anywhere. over and over again, between tender touches and soft kisses she has told him how much value he has, and yet still he does this, still sees all she says and does as some sort of commentary on his contrived worthlessness. if sweet words will not work, perhaps she must needs press the point harder. ]
I do not want your apologies, and I do not want you to do anything! I am upset, and angry, and tired. Not everything is your fault, Prompto. Not everything warrants a piteous apology to set right, however an easy and comfortable escape it might be for you.
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That's the most frustrating thing. Wanting to understand, and not quite being able to. And she doesn't seem to be in the mood to gently explain it to him either, her tenderness replaced by barbs, the comforts he would usually seek when he feels this way not availed to him by her. Not tonight. ]
Then why are you yelling at me? Gods, Alisaie, all I want to do is make this better! You know, you're not the only one who's upset, and angry, and tired. In case you forgot, I almost got thrown into a fire today!
[ There's something almost ludicrous in his voice, like he can't believe this is happening. Like he can't quite wrangle with his own anger, and so he couches it in a vain attempt at humor. ]
no subject
[ she's shouting now, her arms flung wide and her expression tight, a hard crease between her brows, deep and sharp. ]
It is not all about you! Just because I am yelling, does not mean it is directed at you.
[ though, well, it is now, but it wasn't before, and she can only hope that he can see that difference. with a high flush in her cheeks, alisaie prowls nearer, jabbing a finger right into his chest. ]
You almost got thrown into a fire, yes, and yet you want to take it easy. None of this is okay, you should be upset, and angry! Sometimes there is a mess, Prompto, and you cannot always make it better with a snap of your fingers, you cannot always apologize it away, or take ownership of a fault that does not belong to you.
no subject
No. ]
You...want me to be angry?
[ The fire in his voice abates, instead replaced by confusion. Why would she want him to be angry? How would that help? They've been in hell the past few days, and she thinks it would help if he heaps his frustrations onto hers as well? That's not what he does. He does exactly as she says he does. He takes things on himself, bears the weight of them, tries to make things better for others rather than himself. Usually, it helps. Usually, it works. Yet this time there is almost something twisted about it, about the way he's facing this problem. She points it out so succinctly that he can't help but feel stunned, like he's seeing himself plainly at last, sees how twisted up he makes things because of his own self-perception.
He stares at her for a long, hard moment, his brow knitting together. She wants him to be angry? She wants to see all the ugliness he buries deep to preserve those around him? ]
Fine. Fine! You wanna know what happened to me yesterday? They pushed a bucket of blood into my hands and told me to paint the town with it. Said it belonged to some Olympians, and you know what? It probably did, the way they've been carrying on. Aaaand you wanna know what they did when I wouldn't do it? They threw it on me. Covered me from head to toe with someone else's blood, and that was before they chased me. Imagine me, coming home to shower after that, and you're not even here. Sure gave Peo a heart attack, though.
[ He wanted nothing more after coming home from that than to find her here, to hold her close and cry against her hair, but she hadn't been here. He doesn't blame her, of course, because she was no doubt out looking for him, just as he had been for her. He's furious with the situation, too. For blowing up like this. For putting them in a situation where they had to wonder if the other was even alive. Maybe part of him is resentful, that things have gone the way they have because Alisaie was right all along about living here. He just...
He hoped for something better, and now it's come to this. ]
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it feels like a dam breaking. it's so damned satisfying. she exhales hard, trembling. ]
And that is awful, isn't it?
[ it is, isn't it? it sounds absolutely horrifying, and is nothing short of all the myriad horrors she has witnessed these last few days, the scent of burning flesh that clings to her like a second skin, the sound of screams that still reverberate in her ears. she can only imagine how prompto, sensitive as he is, had reacted, and she will feel guilty enough about it later, but for now?
for now, they vent. ]
It is horrible, all of this is horrible, and that is not your fault.
no subject
His fists ball at his sides, hard enough that he can feel his fingernails cutting into his palms, but it seems so inconsequential, next to the rest of this. ]
I hate this. I hate it! They're tearing lives apart, they don't even think about who they're hurting, and for what? Some sense of glory? Why is it always like this? Why can't they just - why can't they just let it go?
[ He exhales sharply, squeezing his eyes shut. ]
I just - I want it to stop, but it's not going to. [ He laughs bitterly, mirthlessly. ] This is just the beginning.
[ So what will it be next? Cities razed? Knives put in their leaders' backs? Daemons tamed for war? Magitek troopers, bred for one purpose, and one purpose only? He's seen it all before. The path of war. Except this time, he's not even at the side of the only person who could stop it. This time, he's on his own, and there's nothing he can do. It just all seems so...futile. ]
no subject
Yes, it is. Things will only escalate from here.
[ which of course is not what he wants to hear, she knows, and to be quite honest, it is not what she wants to say. but it is their reality, and they are both of them warranted a little frustration. ]
War is ugly, and foolish, but we shall move forward. It is all we can do.
[ at last she steps forward again, taking his face into her hands, gliding her thumbs over his cheekbones, careful to keep clear of the bruising. ]
Let us clean up, and get some rest. Then we shall decide how to move forward.
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They don't quite fall in a rush, but they're there, quietly gathering in his eyelashes, the sound of his breathing wet and shaking when he takes it. Things had been...so peaceful here, for a time. Perhaps he was a fool for thinking it could last, but he thought, he really thought it might...
His shoulders sag, stepping close enough to her when she touches his face that he can touch his brow to hers, to breathe in her familiar scent and feel her familiar warmth. It's everything to him in this moment. That she's here for him. That she hasn't walked away. That she pushed him to look at this beyond himself and his place in the narrative.
At last, he nods. ]
Okay. Okay.
[ Would it be too much to apologize for being an idiot about this? ]
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[ she answers, softly, her voice shaken and rough but she does all she can to keep it steady. it is never comfortable to argue with those you love, but sometimes it is necessary, cleansing, even if she feels scoured from the inside out. gently, she nuzzles her nose alongside his, brushing her mouth over his own as carefully as she can. ]
I love you.
[ because it warrants mentioning, even if he has had something of a breakthrough, this is something that she never wants him to doubt. ]
Come then, and bring that ice with you.
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But some things remain constant. Some things do not change. ]
I love you, too.
[ He allows himself one more moment, one more careful brush of his lips, before he steps back, taking her hand in one of his and the ice pack in another. ]
Will you still love me if I'm horribly disfigured beyond recognition? I got clocked pretty bad...
[ A weak smile. It's really not that bad at all. ]
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[ her fingers in his tighten; it's silly to hold hands only to walk upstairs, but she's put him through enough tonight, and after too many terrified days apart it feels good to hold his hand. to feel the warmth of his fingers.
it'll feel even better to scrub herself clean and sleep in their bed, pressed near to him. ]
Were you to disfigure yourself, I doubt you would spend nearly as much time in the washroom.
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He snorts - and then breathes in sharply. Bad idea. Don't laugh through your nose when it's bruised and bleeding.
Pressing the ice pack against his face as they step into their room: ]
Or would I spend more, to make up for my broken face? Or maybe I'd go the mysterious mask route...good thing my hair's intact, at least.
[ Because let's be real, that's where he spends most of his bathroom time... ]
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[ a lie. but she would definitely have to restrict his bathroom time. one of these days, prompto, you are going to pay for your vanity.. hopefully in a ridiculous, hilarious way.
at any rate, it's quiet and peaceful upstairs, which is an impossible relief. she wastes no time in stripping down out of her filthy clothes, leaving them in a discarded heap, and starting the shower with scalding hot water. how long has it been since she has felt clean? her hair feels stringy and dusty as she works it from its messy braid. ]
What will you do if you begin to lose your hair?
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But for now, it seems as though he will recover. Prompto heads straight for the mirror, because of course he does, leaning in close and prodding at his swelling nose and lip gingerly, using a damp cloth to wipe away the blood. Nothing that won't heal on its own, even if it stings like a bitch as he cleans it, little drops of red washing away in the sink.
Careful to avoid bumping his face, his tugs off his clothes, leaving them in an unceremonious heap on the bathroom floor. There's too much smoke and blood - his own and others' - on them right now for him to want to do anything else with them. ]
Wear a wig, probably.
[ There is no teasing note in his voice. Maybe it's just because he's tired. Or maybe he's serious. He steps over to Alisaie, to help her work her snarled hair out of its braid with gentle, careful fingers. ]
Bet I could make one outta the hair you leave in the drain. And the sink. And the bed...
[ And everywhere. ]
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seeing prompto so drained that he cannot even crack a smile at his own joke(?) is quite sad, enough to make her heart feel heavy as lead in her breast, but better that he behave this way than force a smile for her benefit. she wants to know him, all of him, his smiles, yes, but also his anger, his despair, his fear. it's satisfying to know that he trusts her enough to let his weariness show, however much she might ache to take it away from him.
for now, simply being by his side will have to be enough for the both of them. ]
What are you trying to say?
[ she asks, haughtily, lifting her brows and dropping her hands away so he can work. ]
Shall I chop it off for your convenience?
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[ He pauses, as if that question warrants a great deal of thought. Really, he's just taking that time to focus on her hair, on loosing it from its tangle, working it free until it cascades down her back, pale and messy, though still he runs his fingers through it, gentle and fond. ]
Nah. I guess I can live with it.
[ The hot water calls to his aching bones, and at last Prompto steps into the shower, letting it cascade over his head and shoulders, a hand extended to her. Maybe it's unnecessary, but on a night like tonight, the thrives off these tender moments they share together, these fond touches. ]
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she wastes no time in setting to tending him, gathering shampoo into her hands and working it gently through his hair, rubbing and scratching at his scalp, looking into his face with searching eyes. now that her anger has cooled she cannot help but feel a little.. guilty, for how she had torn into him - she certainly hadn't held back, and while she does not necessarily regret what she had said, she is sorry for how she had said it. so her touch is tender, loving, a reminder of how much she loves him, how important he is to her. ]
I am sorry.
[ she says, after a moment, stil rubbing gentle circles at the nape of his neck. ]
I was harsh.
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