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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. | |
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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. | |
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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[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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[Her hand shifts, moving away from his ear to brush at his hair — less like petting a dog and more like the sort of thing a mother might do for a sick child, comforting and light.]
...Hey. By the way?
[Pet pet pet.]
Thanks for proving you really are the cutest member of the wet dog boyband.
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Oh, no, can you imagine how bad I'd smell if I got wet now?
[Without thinking about it, he sinks down onto his side, exposing his throat and the front of his shirt up to her as his tail keeps right on sweeping.]
There's not enough shampoo on the planet.
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[Is that...
...
Is he giving in to instinct and showing his belly to her...? Is that what's happening right now. Is he seriously just a big dumb puppy dog with big dumb ears and a waggy tail and big soft eyes looking up at her and oh, motherfucker.]
I think the guy whose house I live in, he makes soap. I'd steal some for you.
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You're living with a guy?
[WEEEE WOOO WEEEE WOO KILL BILL SIRENS.]
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[Surely that's a sufficient enough explanation. Everybody just sort of knew where they were supposed to be going, didn't they? She sure did.]
I kind of avoid him, though. I figure it's mostly his house and I just kind of go in when he's not around.
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Is he keeping you out of your own house? Not cool.
[His tail is not wagging now.]
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[Jeez, he really is doing the dog-mannerisms thing. Look at his ears. He's not even wagging his tail anymore. This is some wild shit.]
I figured I'd stake him out a little. Figure him out. You know?
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[But he doesn't have to be happy about it! Huffing softly, he glances aside, considering the implications and possibly better solutions, then looks at her again, still concerned.]
Where do you go when he is there, then?
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I go find an abandoned house or something. Hit a rooftop, sometimes. Go hang out in the garden. Or the library. There's a lot to do around the town, if you really think about it.
[There's really not. This town is the size of a thimble.]
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[This is offensive, it offends every fiber of his Guys Just Wanna Have Fun soul.]
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[Foolish Summer. She has no idea of the Perpetual Friend Tolerance Capacity that gay roadtripping instills in you.]
Won't you?
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[He inches towards her a little on his tummy, tail starting to sweep back and forth again.]
Come on, I promise I won't! Flor, pleeeeease?
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...
Is this the real life, or.]
You are unreal.
[It's not a complaint. Not the way she says it.]
Okay. On one condition. If I say yes, you gotta answer a question for me. Fair?
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