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Event Six.
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Your first choice should always be to run Otherwise you had better hope You have silver bullets in a gun. | |
Welcome to Awash's sixth event log, everyone! Further information on this event can be found here at the OOC post. | |
| |
Your first choice should always be to run Otherwise you had better hope You have silver bullets in a gun. | |
Welcome to Awash's sixth event log, everyone! Further information on this event can be found here at the OOC post. | |
he full moon hangs brightly over the Town, hovering so low that it almost feels as though you could reach out and touch it. It should be comforting.
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No.
[Well, it did, a little--biting definitely happened, and his jaw isn't currently made for it, not like a real wolf's is. But that's not what she means, and he knows it.
And he doesn't lie to her.]
Not this one.
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Not this one.
[She echoes it, hollow enough that there's no mistaking the fact that she's picking up what he's putting down.]
Can...you control it?
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[A baby bunny with sharp teeth is still a baby bunny. He crawls further back from her, still all apologetic, submissive hangdog posture.]
I'll go. It's okay. I-I just wanted to make sure you were safe, when I recognized your. Uh. You know, your smell. 'Cause of the wolf thing.
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It eats at her, digs in deep and pulls at her, and the only reason she hasn't crossed the chasm of distance between them already is because she of all people has learned the hard way that blindly trusting that someone will never hurt you just means you won't see it coming if and when they do.
And yet.
There's something about the way he says I'll go that she finds she can't stand. It rubs her nerves raw, digs in claws deeper than any that could possibly be adorning his fingers right now.]
Come back here.
[It's not a question. Somehow, she just has the feeling that he needs it to not be a question right now.]
Come on. Let me see.
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What? No. That's not a good idea. That's a bad idea, Flor, I don't wanna... [His voice is growing too quick into another whine, and he swallows it back, tries to breathe through it. It still comes out a little, and he shakes his head, speaks to the ground.] I only wanna protect people.
[It's not the same as the Starscourge, but it is. The infection, the transformation. He's shaking.]
If the way to do that is to go, then, I mean. [He breathes out a shaky laugh.] What else can they do to me, bite me more? It's fine. ...I-I'll be fine.
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[There's an odd note in her tone, the way she says that — like warped steel, like an uncanny valley of reassurance. Prompto is perhaps the only person in the entirety of the town with the ability to understand why that particular sentence is strung together the way it is, rather than hearing it as its gentler cousin, I know you won't hurt me.
Inwardly, she takes a quick self-assessment of all the factors — the distance between them, her stores of magic, her reflexes. She'd have to be fast, and get off two spells in the time she'd usually devote to just one. She's got enough juice for the spells she'd need to put him down, she thinks, if it came to it.
She'd just also need the other one, too. The one that lets her smile through all the most horrible things she's ever done.]
You of all people should know I wouldn't.
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But at least he doesn't have to be frightened for her. She'll be safe.]
...Okay. I'm coming.
[Slowly and gingerly, Prompto gets up and makes his way towards her. There they are: furred, pointed ears, pressed low to his skull; golden fur up his hands and forearms; a tail tucked low, low, low.
He stops when he's close enough to see but not to touch, eyes cast down again, trembling despite all that thick, warm fur.]
...H. Hi.
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[That one word escapes her under her breath, as she stares at him for more reasons than just threat assessment. It'd...almost be cute, in a kind of uncomfortable sort of way, if it weren't for the fact that he's so clearly repulsed by what's happened to him that it feels sort of awful to think of it as anything but the horror it is.]
...Hi.
[She wonders if there's black fur on the inside of his wrist. Then she immediately hates herself for wondering that, and silently slaps the idea right out of her own mind.]
Does...does it hurt?
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I-it's kind of uncomfortable? In the, um, pants situation. --I mean in the back!
[Lest she think something befell the forward pants situation. Nooooo. No.]
Mostly it just feels weird. And itchy. And I'm hungry.
[The last is pretty much just a miserable mumble, not even a whine. Not something he intends to do anything about, he hates this so much.]
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[This stray werewolfian greyhound, these inconvenient fireworks.]
Are you gonna, um. Is it gonna wig you out, if I try to touch you?
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Uhhh, I don't know, what are you gonna try to touch?
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[Tempting as it is to snap I'm not going to grab your butt, this isn't really the time or the place for it right now. Or maybe it's exactly the time and the place for it right now, but she's already missed the window of opportunity, shit.]
I'm going to make a wide circle around you and come up behind you on your left.
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[He'll make it be okay. He swallows, then nods.]
I'm gonna sit, though. That's okay?
[It'll make it a lot easier, not being on his feet while she comes up from behind. And it'll make it a lot easier, too, not having to stand when he's still shaking a little.]
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[And she'll give him plenty of space to do that before she ever starts moving, letting him watch every step she takes so that he always knows where she is.]
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The line of his shoulders softens, bit by bit.]
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Here I come, Quicksilver...
[A heads-up that she gives him well before she's within reach, letting him feel her drawing nearer with every step until finally she's close enough to touch. But before she does, she hesitates, needing to give him even more warning still.]
Easy. You're gonna feel my hand on your head in a second. Easy, okay? Nice and easy.
[Slowly, she reaches out, inch by inch as her fingertips approach fur.]
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[He stays still. It is nice and easy, listening to someone else, someone he likes. Trusts. Flora knows what it is to be afraid. She won't let him hurt her, won't let him do anything bad.
When her hand finds his head, his tail wags, once.]
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[She doesn't even know what she's saying, really; she's just stringing together words that sound soothing together, keeping her tone even and coaxing as much as a way of keeping her own nerves in check as from trying to keep Prompto from startling.
When her fingers first touch his head, she lets them rest there a moment, and gets a surprise in return when his tail wags. Huh. So...okay, maybe her hunch hadn't been wrong, then. And maybe...]
You're okay. It's just me. You're okay.
[Carefully, she slides her fingertips over to the base of one of his twitchy ears, and scritches just a little.]
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[His ear flicks again, but a goofy, tentative, ticklish smile accompanies it this time instead of earlier's worried look. His tail wags again, more sustained this time, and he leans carefully into her hand.]
Hey, are you... are you petting me up there? Flora?
[Just a little, he turns his head, just enough to catch a glimpse of her expression.]
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[It's not even, she thinks belatedly, the fact that she's petting him specifically. Yes, this was a gamble that she'd been betting on, that his ears might be sensitive and he might have the same reaction to having them petted that an animal would, but —
It's not even the sensation itself, really, is it?
It's the fact that he was scared, and ashamed, and miserable, and someone reached out for him anyway.
(Once upon a time, he reached out and took her hand when she needed it, too.) ]
Thanks for the rescue, you big bad softie.
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I'm sure you had it handled. But you're welcome. Anytime, girl, really.
[Except then he notices the thumping of that big, dumb tail. Mortified, he pins it hard under the heel of his hand, looks up at her, face burning, and then surprises himself by laughing.]
I wanted a dog, not to be a dog. You're not gonna change my name to Lucky, are you?
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[At least he's laughing, she reminds herself with relief. He's laughing, and blushing, and all of those things are better than a crumpled expression and sagging shoulders and tremors down his spine.]
...So what do I smell like? To the wolf thing, I mean.
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[He faces forward again, tail starting to move under his hand like it wants to wag, but he forces it still. What he doesn't do is take a big breath. He doesn't want to make it weird by blatantly smelling her.]
Well, I can smell your armor. And your shampoo. And... a little bit of fire? And there's something that's, like... that's just you, that I couldn't smell... before.
[Maybe because it's less a true smell than something imagined, something Prompto's put together after this month he's spent getting to know her that his transformation now translates into scent. Something felt-and-unseen to breathed-and-unseen.]
It's kind of like the air under the Wall. Back home, I mean. But it's different from Noct's magic, I can tell. It's more... it's not as clean, it has more of a natural scent, a real scent. Maybe like camp, it's familiar like that, but. It--it's hard to describe.
[...]
I can also smell a single, sad potato dinner.
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[That's not precisely what he'd said, technically speaking, but it's what she translates out of it, and whether that's true or not, it's — interesting. Her magic is a tool to her, first and foremost, no different than his gun or a sword or a really big stick. It's a means of solving problems, a thing that assists her in turning ideas into survival. She doesn't really think of it as being something that's just her. Something that's a part of her.
She can remember a time when it wasn't a part of her, of course. Now it is, all the time. But she still finds it a little weird, to think of it as her instead of as hers.]
— Hey!
[And then he hits that last bit.]
S'nothing wrong with my potato. There were a lot of nights when all I had was a lot worse than a single potato. I'm not about to knock it.
[That shouldn't be something she accepts so offhandedly, but here we are.]
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[He's been there with a fire and a can of beans. Finally, he lets go of his tail so he can let his hands sit in his lap, as close to relaxed as he can probably get in this state.]
You don't have to now, though. I mean, not here. Now might not be, like, the best time ever to drop in, not when I'm.
[Prompto gestures wordlessly at himself, an unhappy but small motion that's easy to shake off and move on from.]
But I like you and Noct likes you. So Iggy won't mind cooking for you whenever, really, as long as we let him know how much he has to make. Don't be a stranger.
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