❪ event ❫ hour of ruin

[natha]

HOUR OF RUIN     Sometime after midnight, after preparations have been put aside in favor of drinks and rest, a thunderous beating of wings shatters the air — the High Dragon Ysverai, once again risen. The sound echoes high off Namarak Mountain, but travels easily to both Wyver and Olympia: scream after scream rends the still night, as though a creature were dying rather than being born again. Having only had days to plan their defense against the creature, Olympia and Wyver snatch up their arms. The Royal Guard and the Knightryders can be seen on their steeds hurrying through the cities, because Ysverai doesn't remain isolated at the mountain's peak for long. There are pictures of Ysverai in abundance throughout both cities, but the creature that circles in the sky looks nothing like the majestic creature spoken of in history books. Even from far below, wounds and lacerations can be seen marring what should be smooth scales, and blood falls with every beat of the dragon's wings. The damage becomes more clear when moonlight illuminates Ysverai, revealing the rotting dragon for all to see. The sight of flesh peeling away and thick blood where it oozes from his cracked, greyish hide is as frightening as the power he possesses. REASON'S TRANSCENDENCE     Mad from the anguish of his forced revival, Ysverai will show none of his renowned wisdom or compassion, mindless and seeking to inflict his pain onto whatever emerges in his path. His very presence creates chaos: animals (Olympia | Wyver) domesticated and wild, flee from the merest hint of his approach, panicked and stampeding in wild droves. The reason is obvious: organic matter exposed too long to his presence begins to rot and decay. A field he lands in rots and lies fallow. Buildings crack and crumble, their supports pitted and corroded as though they've been left in disrepair for years. Even the ground that Ysverai walks upon is tainted; a corrosive sludge bubbles up in his massive, clawed footsteps, the ground beneath him putrefied and toxic, oozing corruption. This sludge can be tar-like, poisonous and sucking people in like quicksand; panic, and you'll only sink faster. Prolonged exposure to Ysverai takes a mental toll on anyone in his proximity as well. Effects similar to those from being near his heart — selfish desires and lowered inhibitions — will begin to fester in those around him. Every time Ysverai roars, pain will run through all those that hear him — a pain not just physical, but of true, anguished heartbreak. Those who hear Ysverai will feel (to a degree of your choosing) a sharing of his pain, the agony of flesh rotting from their bodies, blood oozing from under their skin, and a terrible, incandescent fury — and beneath that, a gut-wrenching sadness. This effect is further enhanced by any exposure to Ysverai's blood, and being drenched in greater quantities will cause one to become more in sync with the dragon. Finally, Ysverai is aggressive, attacking anyone and anything that approaches. He starts by breathing out a smog, acidic and putrefying — characters caught directly by this attack will find that medicine and healing magic of any kind hurts them for hours after exposure. The dragon will ignite the smog to breathe fire, if sparingly. IN WYVER     Ysverai's shadow falls over the near reaches of Wyver first. Upon hearing Ysverai's cry, the dragons in Wyver become completely frenzied, turning against their partners among the Knightryders without the slightest resistance. Those familiar with dragons might deduce that they're in pain, though they don't show any sign of injury. The dragons knock their riders off their backs in midair and dive at citizens, jaws wide. Any attempts to soothe them will be long fought, achieved with great difficulty, and will see them retreat into a cowering state. It's not just the airborne Knightryders taking to the defense of the city however, and people on the ground are mobilizing as well. On rooftops across the city are cannons set to fire harpoons. And if the spearheads alone aren't enough to injure the beast, they're coated with a paralyzing poison as well. Unfortunately, the soldiers stationed on the rooftops are prime targets to the frenzied dragons populating Wyver's skies, leaving the cannons open for ordinary citizens to use should they choose. Left alone too long, and cannons may fall under the control of the few remaining radicals that had opted not to flee the cities to join up with their leader Raysc, choosing instead to wait for an opportune moment to unleash their anger on the people of Wyver. These radicals will need to be dealt with before they can turn the cannons upon Wyver's defenders. IN OLYMPIA     In Olympia, the gryphon partners of the Royal Guard react with immediate hostility to anyone showing signs of Ysverai's influence. Their keen senses allow them to pick up the smell of Ysverai's blood and they attack anyone with so much as a drop of tainted blood on them. Those who bear lingering effects of Ysverai's mental attack and who remain in sync with the dragon after hearing Ysverai's cry are also targeted and must face the gryphons' wrath without mercy or restraint. The gryphons must be disabled, for Olympia will not look upon any injury to their prized steeds lightly. However, the gryphons also show some resistance to Ysverai's cry, which is a great boon in battle against the dragon — gryphons that have lost their riders will be available for use, able to carry two passengers at a time. The people of Olympia aren't planning to restrict their offense to pure brute force, and the mages of the city can be seen across Olympia wielding enchanted chains, using telekinesis in the hopes of restraining Ysverai and assisting in the airborne troops. But like the decaying buildings and wildlife, Ysverai is warping the magic around him, the chains faltering as they approach him, whipping back toward the city instead to cage whoever happens to be closest. It's not just the enchanted chains either, but other magic might behave erratically in his presence, as if the very essence of the spells have been corrupted. VIRTUOUS VERSE     Both cities realize they need to seek survival rather than victory against Ysverai, switching gears to carry out diversion efforts and evacuation plans. It falls to refugees to continue the offensive while the Royal Guard and the Knightryders devote their attention to ensuring the safety of the citizens as they flee. With official forces stretched thin, civilians and refugees alike will also need to step up to help herd citizens toward safety among a maze of collapsing buildings. Others will need to see to gathering resources for the evacuation, and while gathering non perishables is easy enough, it's considerably harder to wrangle livestock into cooperating amidst such chaos. Those fighting may be asked to act as bait for Ysverai. Chatter through official troops speaks of a switch in strategy: the objective now is capture the dragon's attention and draw him away from the populous cities and towards the South Outpost. Whether or not it's possible to defeat the dragon remains uncertain, but there's no question that it will be easier to battle him without worrying about civilians. THE RAGE     Luckily, the dragon is indiscriminate in his rage, and easily lured so long as a suitably infuriating target is before him. It doesn't take long to draw him to the South Outpost, but the trail of destruction he leaves in his wake is vast. Once there, the combined forces are greeted not just by Ysverai, but also by the appearance of Ysverai's master. How bravely you've all come to meet your doom! Great heroes, one and all, ha! I welcome you, bring your best. Show me the power that's protected Olympia and Wyver, all that you have to offer me, whatever pitiful excuse for valor you seek to cling to when the fear has you cowering in your beds. All will be for naught in the face of Ysverai's might! Let history witness the day the glory of war is reignited — the day that Wyver remembers its fangs once more! Come, Ysverai, last and greatest of the High Dragons! Come, and restore Wyver to its rightful place! Come, fulfill the promise as our protector that you could not in life! Raysc lifts a gleaming device as he issues his command. Red lights blink and blood, the same oozing liquid that drips from Ysverai's many wounds, runs in clear tubes through the device. Ysverai rears back as Raysc makes adjustments to a control panel — and then lunges forward, mouth agape. With a single swallow, Raysc meets his end. Raysc's attempt to control the dragon has only enraged him further, spurring Ysverai on to new heights of fury. It's become more vital than ever to face the dragon and take him down here and now. A few effective strategies are learned from research efforts and observed while defending Olympia and Wyver: goading the dragon into breathing fire will hurt him, burning him from the inside out, and attacks to his joints, eyes, wings, and exposed bone are effective. Ice is a natural repellent to dragons and can be used defensively or to weaken the dragon's hide. Healing spells will also react unnaturally to Ysverai's flesh, hastening his decay. However, while concentrated efforts will lock him down, Ysverai cannot be permanently killed in this state — his flesh constantly rots and spawns anew. Attacking him here is to protect civilians, keeping him busy to avoid mass destruction elsewhere. Therefore, the battle is one of attrition, a matter of a race against time. You must destroy his flesh faster than it is able to regenerate to have any hope of victory. Finally, when Ysverai is weakening, little more than bones with a few last vestiges of rotten meat hanging from a skeleton, the pathetic remnants of the last High Dragon takes to the skies. His wings are barely intact enough to carry him, yet desperation lifts him, higher and higher, until he lets out one great, earth-shaking roar. A roar that carries across the battlefield, sending all who hear it to their knees. A roar that shatters the swords in soldiers' hands, that rends apart the very air itself — Ysverai's last act, a great curse upon El Nysa, to bring down the sky. AND THE WORLD STOOD STILL     The terror of Ysverai's destruction hangs overhead — a tear in the sky, darkness pouring through, tendrils reaching down towards El Nysa to swallow up the planet in the dragon's final act of revenge. And yet nothing moves. A halo of brilliant light surrounds the rift in the sky, holding the grasping, hungry tendrils in check. And on the planet, not a creature moves. Not a blade of grass stirs. You're not able to even draw a breath. No matter where you are, not even the heart in your chest is beating. Everything has stopped — time has come to a standstill. In a wash of light, an aurora of transport, you find yourself delivered to Thesa Station. Darma stands before you, her expression solemn, perhaps even grim, though that may just be a trick of the station's harsh lighting. She explains what has happened in short order: planetside, time has been completely frozen. We have seen the birth and end of worlds. The rise and fall of civilizations infinite times over. We have seen all threads of possibilities that could have lead to this very moment... Or should have. Perhaps you might doubt our sincerity when we say this comes as a surprise to us, as well... Special technology has been used to blind us. To this day, we only know of one region capable of creating and utilizing such technology... you will find this technology in a city known as Nadril. We understand that you have created a life down in Wyver and Olympia, but now we must ask that you put that life on pause. We ask you to travel to Nadril and find the original Refugee, and with him, answers. As you will discover, he does not wish to speak to us. It is no matter. By now it is too late to keep the Nysan public unaware of our existence. We commend the efforts of those who wish to protect their comrades on the battlefield below, but a creature like poor Ysverai, twisted and warped, given unnatural life with terrible magic and technology, does not simply go down with manpower. Please, leave Ysverai to us. Time on the planet will remain stopped while we determine how to deal with the dragon. For now, rest and recover your strength. We have returned, and soon, there will be new refugees awakening. Perhaps you might like to prepare yourselves to greet them? I'm sorry that I can't answer more questions, but for now, all our attention must turn to finding a way to stop what Ysverai has wrought. A bank of monitors behind Darma displays the battlefield below: Ysverai's frozen, looming figure and the breach in the sky, and the Natha's halo, holding the destruction back. Though time passes normally on Thesa Station, El Nysa remains frozen, and all Refugees are unable to return to the planet until Ysverai's menace is dealt with. Luckily, with the Natha's return, full functionality has also returned to the station. The lights and environmentals are back to full power, access to all areas has been restored, the cafeteria is serving its normal offerings, and there's no evidence of any glitching or malfunctions. Doubtless, the period of rest is much needed after the hard-fought battle. For now, with time on El Nysa at a standstill, there's little else to be done but enjoy the reprieve aboard Thesa Station. FINAL OOC NOTE     Characters that reach an AC length action thread in this event will receive 2 rep for all factions, including Natha. Note that while these are split up for ease of processing, players may submit for all three. OLYMPIA | WYVER | NATHA Players can expect this event to run three days ICly before everyone is teleported to Thesa Station! From thereon, all characters will be grounded at the Station until the Test Drive Meme later this month. QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● lore ● map ● npcs ● bestiary taken ● atp/emp ● application ● rep/acp ● quest bulletin calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

Comments

[punshots]

[ His pursuit is definitely affecting his aim, so reckless and determined to take her down however he can that he loses his finesse. Still, the heat with which he pursues her is a different kind of danger, enthralled as he is by the dragon, pushing him on even when his lungs begin to burn. He only starts to catch his breath when she leads him up and around the stream, paying it no mind. All he cares about right now his his target. Her. Which isn't so far from how things usually are, is it? She so often occupies so much space in his heart—

She calls him by that name, one that he recognizes even if he cannot connect why. He is a nameless thing, no more than a number, but something in that name gives him pause, something in his expression flickering as he trains his weapon on her.

His finger is on the trigger, but he doesn't pull it. ]

Yeah? Y-you're so sure about that?

[ She shouldn't be. He'll kill her. He has to kill her, and anyone else, no one will be spared from the dragon's wrath.

But he hesitates for just a moment. ]

[adelphoi]

[ that single moment's hesitation is all she needs, and alisaie thanks the gods that her reckless gambit worked. had she not been able to get through to him even for a moment it could easily have spelled her end, and worse than that, an endless guilt that would have torn him apart.

but he's still in there, her prompto, ysverai's sway is not so strong as to suppress all of his bright and strong personality.

alisaie doesn't have time to appreciate that, though. immediately she's charging straight for him, fast and sudden and committed, slamming right into his abdomen with her shoulder and sending them both back into the cold rolling waters of the stream. she holds to him tightly, both arms around him to pin his own arms down at his side, and he's strong enough to likely be able to dislodge her if he really tries, but she clings hard, with all of her strength, to keep them both beneath the surface. ]

[punshots]

[ She comes for him, and he's not expecting it. He's expecting her to turn her rapier on him, to engage him in a proper fight at last, to make it all the more satisfactory when he takes her down—but instead, she's taking him down, locking her arms around him tightly as they fall into the rushing water. He struggles—of course he does, but the cold water combined with his surprise lead for a delayed reaction, and by the time he begins to struggle in earnest, the water has washed away much of the blood that had been clinging to his skin and clothing. Ysverai's influence begins to lift, leaving Prompto to find his way into his own mind again, and...for some reason, locked beneath the water with Alisaie.

His mind is a haze, but it's immediately apparent that things are not right at all. Alisaie has his arms pinned down as if to restrain him, and he...

What was just...happening?

Still beneath the water, he meets her gaze, his brow tight, as his arms wind slowly, carefully around her.

What did he do? ]

[adelphoi]

[ there is naught to be done but to pray. whether or not this will work, she does not know - she could be entirely off about this, the blood could have no correlation to it at all, and all she has accomplished is to get them both soaking wet.

but when he meets her gaze, she.. recognizes it, recognizes him, her prompto looking back at her, and not a stranger. relief blooms across her face, all but palpable, and when his arms slip around her she loosens her grasp, and lifts them up around his neck. thank the gods, it worked - somehow it worked.

with a hard kick against the sandy floor of the stream, alisaie propels them back to the shore again, breaking through the surface and dragging him up with her. both of her hands find his face and lift it, her eyes piercing into his own like needles, searching. ]

Prompto?

[punshots]

[ It takes him a moment to respond as Prompto cards through his recent memories, piecing together what might've happened, how he wound up in the stream with Alisaie. She is searching his face, analyzing him like she's looking for something in him that shouldn't be there, but...why, exactly? He remembers....Ysverai's blood, and he'd felt so sick. Sick to his stomach, dizzy, and then Alisaie had arrived, holding him, taking care of him, and then he—

He draws in a gasping, shuddering breath as his eyes fly wide, dropping from her face down to her hip, where blood seeps into her damp clothing. Oh, gods, he'd been—he'd been so angry, so sad, and then he pulled his gun on her, and—he'd pulled the trigger.

He'd done this.

To say he is stricken would be an understatement, Prompto looks positively horrified, eyes wide and dizzy, face pale, as he releases his hold on her, like by their very contact he might hurt her again. Instead, his hands move to hover around her hip, like he wants to do something to help, but is entirely uncertain of what to, and all he can do is tremble and whimper in the depths of his terror, voice gone weak and petrified. ]

F-fuck—I-I-I—I d-did—oh, gods—

[ Panic lights him up and burns him, leaving little else behind. ]

[adelphoi]

[ she'd known this would happen, that his powerful guilt would be stronger than any physical wound, and she can see it in his face - the horror that washes over him with stark realization, as he begins to piece together what must have happened.

she's ready for it. ]

Enough.

[ her voice is hard, sharp as a knife's edge, and she lifts her hands to his jaw to tug his chin up, attempting to tear his eyes away from her hip and up to her face instead. she's rarely ever seen him so stricken, so sickened, and it makes her heart ache fiercely, but now is not the time to be caught up in this. it is not his fault. she will brook no argument on this. ]

Look at me, Prompto. This was no fault of yours. Do you understand me?

[punshots]

[ By the time Alisaie takes his face in her hands, Prompto's breathing is tight and heavy, like he's forcing the capacity of his lungs through a straw, and his eyes are wide, his entirely body trembling. Before he can descend into a panic attack in earnest, however, Alisaie's voice cuts through the hot, thick fear, and while it takes him a moment to really process what she's saying or the tone in her words, he plateaus. Not quite calming, but not spiraling even further, either.

All he can manage to do is meet her eyes and nod. She says it is no fault of his, even if the proof is plain before his eyes. He pulled the trigger. That means it is his fault, doesn't it? He shot her. He shot her...

As the anxiety starts to pull away like the tide, leaving Prompto numb and cold, like the clothes and hair that cling to his skin. Instinct starts to kick in where his mind withdraws, and he compartmentalizes so he can keep moving. It's all he can do, if he's to find a way to carry on. ]

W-we need t-to get that healed. [ He swallows thickly. ] Did—did the bullet go through? W-we need to get it out, if not—

[ Oh, gods. ]

[adelphoi]

[ she can see the panic building in him clearly, and that must needs be addressed before any pulling of anything out of anywhere happens. ]

I will take care of it. Please, Prompto. Breathe.

[ alisaie doesn't exactly love being shot or anything, but she's been injured so many times in her life that she keeps calm easily. this is not life threatening, she's pumped full of adrenaline, there's a damned enormous dragon to fight - the last thing she needs is prompto falling to pieces. she understands. truly, she does. and she knows him, knows how horrifying this must be for him, but they simply have no time to waste with fretting over spilled milk.

alisaie unbuckles her belt, dropping away her heavy sash, and shucks her coat off soon after, making it easier to tug her skirt up over her hip and get to the injury. there is no exit wound, and the bullet seems to have missed the bone, thankfully, buried instead in the meat of her hip. with one hand poised over the bloodied wound, she offers her other to him, breathing deeply. ]

Hold my hand.

[ so she can crush his fingers while she digs this thing out.. ]

[punshots]

[ He wants to refuse, he wants to fix this, he wants to scream and cry and beat his fists until they bleed, but he does none of these things. Panicked as he is, he can still tell Alisaie is more levelheaded than he is right now, and he needs to do what she says, whatever she says. She will know what to do, and after the bullet is out, he can fall on his knees in front of her and beg for her forgiveness. But he doesn't deserve it. What he's done is unspeakable.

He whimpers when she pulls up her skirt to examine the wound beneath, squeezing his eyes shut against fat, hot tears, but she gives him a command, and so biting hard on his lower lip, he forces himself to breathe, and takes her hand. ]

I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry...

[ He repeats over and over like a broken record, but his grip on her hand is sure and fast. ]

[adelphoi]

[ it's tempting to snap at him again, she is in pain, tired, short-tempered - but she can understand his panic, to a degree. it seems a lifetime ago, but alisaie was once on his end of an accidental maiming, when the plague had addled her mind and she had turned her blade on riza. granted, the damage she had done far outstrips a bullet to the hip, but nevertheless, alisaie can recall how horrified she was, how terrible it felt to know she had caused such harm to someone she cared for.

so she keeps her temper in check, diverts it instead to the courage she needs to do this - best not to wait, just get it done, get it over -

it's no small thing, really, to dig a bullet from your own body, and alisaie inhales sharply, tries to bite back a shout but finds herself unable to. it's deep in the meat, slippery work, and she is no surgeon, but after a few very long, very harrowing seconds she is able to pry the slug free from her flesh, her fingers slick with bright scarlet blood, her breath quick, and labored. just.. give her a moment to stop her head from spinning.

suffice it to say, his hand is likely thoroughly crushed. ]

[punshots]

[ He can only watch for so long, squeezing her hand just as tightly in return as she digs into her flesh to retrieve the bullet. The smell of blood is thick in the air, and sound of it wet upon her fingers turns his stomach violently. It may not be worse than watching her cough up blood, but he hadn't caused that. This is different. This is — this is —

He spies the bullet in her bloodied fingers, dripping with her essence, and he has to turn away, still tightly holding to her hand, curling low until his forehead touched the dirt, doing his best not to retch. ]

Y-you — you —

[ He gives up on speaking, instead whistling for Chobi. His saddlebags have bandages and gauze and disinfectant, and she may have gotten the bullet out, but they're not out of the woods yet.

Feebly, he reaches up when Chobi draws near to pull the supplies from his bags, but his fingers are trembling too much, and he drops a bandage roll right onto the dirt. ]

D-dammit...

[adelphoi]

[ it's not that she does not feel for him. she does. it makes her heart ache to see him in such distress, to know how worried and afraid he is, but they simply do not have the luxury to indulge that right now. she is in pain, bleeding, trying to remain focused, but prompto is little more than a nuisance in this state, hampering her efforts to move forward, to get back to what it is that they need to be doing.

admittedly, alisaie is not a terribly patient girl, but right now it is worn so incredibly thin. ]

Just -- stop.

[ she hisses through clenched teeth, her head spinning with pain, her stomach flipping with nausea. she snatches up the gauze from the ground, but soon after must close her eyes to steady herself, and concentrate on breathing. slowly. deeply. speaking through each long breath. ]

Go.. fill our waterskins. Anything. Just leave me to it.

[ much as he might be trying to help, this will go all the more quickly without him. ]

[punshots]

[ He winces at her sharpness, but of course, he's earned it. He doesn't deserve her gentleness or care right now, and though the last thing he wants to do right now is leave her side, her tone leaves little room for argument. Better he stay out of her hair for now, and...make himself useful, if it's even possible. ]

...R-right.

[ Stomach turning, hands still shaking, he takes the waterskins from Chobi's saddle bags, trotting back over to the stream to fill them. At least it's something to do with his hands doesn't demand a lot of precision or skill, but even so, it takes him longer than it should to complete such a simple task. The skins keep slipping from his fingers, and he can hardly see for the tears in his eyes.

How could this have happened? Something so unthinkable, so terrible, to attack, to hurt the person he loves more than anyone in the world—

He bites down hard enough on his bottom lip that he tastes blood in his mouth. ]

[adelphoi]

[ when she's not reeling with pain and bleeding all over her hands she will see that he gets the comfort he deserves - but for now, she does all she can to simply.. hold herself together, for both their sakes.

so while he is gone she works as quickly as she can, and though her hands tremble she is quick to mop up what blood she can and pack the open wound with a thick glob of antiseptic. after that, a quick vercure and it's.. the best that she can manage. alisaie is competent enough with first aid, but she is no accomplished healer - she can already imagine what alphinaud and krile will have to say about her shoddy work.

by the time he's finished with the waterskins she is pale and drawn but calm, her bloodied hands hastily wrapping the roll of gauze around her hips, tying it off in place. ]

[punshots]

[ At last the waterskins are full and he shambles back over to her, his relief at seeing her bandaging her hip only a drop in he bucket. Her fingers are still crimson with drying blood, and her clothes, and the ground, and gods,the smell of it is still sharp on the air, even with the wound closed off. He can still spot the bullet glinting in the dirt where she had dropped it, its presence an stinging reminder of just what an unspeakable thing he has done. Unforgivable. He just—he'd had no control—

But what kind of monster shoots their own wife?

Whimpering, he sinks down onto his knees next to her, offering her a water skin in one trembling hand. He can't bear to meet her gaze, but the tears still streaking down his cheeks are still obvious enough. ]

I-is it — w-will you be able t-to—

[ Will she even be able to walk? ]

[adelphoi]

[ she takes the waterskin right away and lifts it to her mouth, drinking deeply, like as not draining half its contents in one long, satisfying gulp. but she feels marginally more human - elezen?? - once she's finished, lowering it again with a hard sigh. ]

It did not strike the bone. I should be fine.

[ limping, possibly, and it hurts like hells, but it could have been far worse. nevertheless, it is time to face the music. she grasps at his hand, heedless of his tears, keeping him focused, on task. ]

Help me up, please.

[punshots]

[ Heavily, he nods, taking her hand as he pushes himself upright again, steadying himself as best as he can so she can lean on him for support if needs be. He should do more. There has to be something more he can do. But even if there is, will it ever be enough to make up for the damage he's done?

Silently, he stands, waiting for her next command. ]

[adelphoi]

[ she's wobbly as she climbs to her feet, pain lancing up her side, but putting weight on her left foot does not feel so bad. thank the twelve that the bullet did not hit anything particularly vital.

with her hands braced on his shoulders she straightens up, and though she is unsteady she seems more than able to stand on her own. okay. dipping her head in a nod, she exhales. ]

All right. Give me a moment to.. wash up.

[ her hands are sticky with drying blood, and there's plenty of it streaking down her leg.. best not to wander around like this. ]

[punshots]

[ He remains at her side to offer her support (more physically than emotionally), and when she's ready to, he helps her hobble her way to the stream so she can wash the blood from her hands and leg. It'll do both of them some good to be rid of it, though Prompto knows already the memory of it will never leave him. Of coming out of his stupor to find her with blood on her hands and body because he'd put a bullet in her...

Brokenly, he offers again: ]

Alisaie, I...I-I'm so, so sorry...

[ He knows it doesn't make up for what happened, but he can't stop himself from saying it. ]

[adelphoi]

[ the water feels good against her hands, if only to wash away the sticky, clinging blood. her clothing is already soaked, so she doesn't bother to keep dry, plunging in carefully to her thighs to more easily scrub it all away, the water of the stream running pink as it winds downstream.

she doesn't answer at first. alisaie keeps her focus on cleaning herself up until at last all that remains are a few pale pink stains clinging to her clothing, and she tugs her skirt back down to cover the hastily bandaged wound. save for her slight limp as she steps back out onto dry land, and the tightness in her expression, one might never know she had been injured at all. ]

Prompto.

[ both hands lift to his face, and she tugs him forward and down none too gently, her eyes hard when they find his. ]

I do not want your apologies. Your guilt will only make me feel worse, and beyond that, it will rattle our focus when we need it most. Do you understand me?

[ her voice is as sharp as her eyes, her mouth set in a hard line. ]

You have come far enough to know that this is not your fault. I know you have. If you cannot realize that and pull yourself together, I pledge to the twelve I will smack you upside your fool head until you do.

[punshots]

[ He's quiet for a long moment after she takes a hold of him and gives him a piece of her mind. It shouldn't be surprising, and the fact that it is is a testament to how out of it he really is right now. But after he lets those words really sink in and penetrate his heart, his mind starts to process again. She's...right. He knows better than this. It's no different than when Noctis had pushed him off the train leaving Cartanica, and Prompto hadn't hesitated to forgive his friend when he had been deceived. This time, it was Prompto who had hurt someone he cared about, his position reversed, and much as he might like to beat himself up until he's a useless heap, he can't do that. No—he won't do that.

He needs to stay focused. This battle is still ongoing. And...

He's better than that.

At last, he nods, lifting a hand so he can palm away his lingering tears. ]

I-I'll save you the trouble, I think. [ A sharp sigh rubs against a breathless laugh. ] I won't lose my head. I promise.

[ And he narrowly resists the urge to apologize again, this time for letting his panic run away with him.

He's better than that. ]

[adelphoi]

[ she's too exhausted to be properly proud of him, but the way she exhales, and the weary smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth, should hopefully convey it well enough. progress is not a straight line - prompto will falter sometimes, as will she, in her own way, following her own path, but in the end he has come far enough to handle this. to move past it, and see what has happened for how it really is.

her tight grasp on his jaw lessens, but she holds to him still, just long enough to tug him down further and tip up her chin to press a warm kiss to his mouth.

she cannot linger long, there is far too much to be done, but nevertheless she hopes it is enough to solidify her feelings. that there is nothing to forgive, that she does not believe even for a moment that any of this was his fault. but soon enough she is pulling back, swiping the wetness from his eyes with her thumbs, then stepping away. ]

Come, we should get moving.