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- !event,
- akashi kaoru,
- akiko yosano,
- akira kurusu,
- aqua (kingdom hearts),
- arsene lupin,
- cairngorm,
- caramia,
- clark kent,
- damian wayne,
- dave strider,
- dextera,
- dirk strider,
- eliot durant,
- elizabeth,
- gaku yaotome,
- gandharva,
- ginko,
- goro akechi,
- guren ichinose,
- haru okumura,
- honebami toushirou,
- ignis scientia,
- izuku midoriya,
- john egbert,
- jonathan kent,
- joshua bright,
- josuke higashikata,
- kairi,
- kamui,
- kei nanjo,
- keigo asano,
- koriel xiii,
- kyrie,
- maribelle,
- maya amano,
- michael mell,
- mikleo,
- minato arisato,
- misaki yata,
- mutsunokami yoshiyuki,
- ochako uraraka,
- okuni kumou,
- okuyasu nijimura,
- percy jackson,
- phoenix,
- prompto argentum,
- riku,
- riku nanase,
- rin okumura,
- ryo asuka,
- saruhiko fushimi,
- selina kyle,
- shiho sannomiya,
- sora,
- sorey,
- summer moran,
- tenn kujo,
- tonbokiri,
- zelda
Event Eight.
 | |
The heart's dearest solace will smile on me there. No more from the cottage again will I roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home. | |
Welcome to Awash's eighth event log, everyone! Further information on this event can be found here at the OOC post. | |
he Town is quiet this week. No sudden quests on the forum post, no roars of werewolves in the distance... just peaceful, peaceful quiet. Of course, it's
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[At this point, it's something he does automatically, an impulse that no longer needs thought or words. All the life he cares to count as life, he was doing that for Noct. Just treating him like a guy.
Her thoughtful stillness spreads to him like it's a spell itself.]
You don't call me by my name very often, do you. I didn't notice till just now.
[With the static in the air, it's tempting to touch her hair, to smooth it down, but he neither moves nor turns.]
Is it because of... this?
[Is it because of him? Maerlyn?]
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[He's right; she doesn't do that very often. He's wrong about the reason why, but to try to express her sentiments on it in words at a time like this would mean dividing her attention a little bit more than she'd like to, especially as the crackle of the lightning is starting to wind down.]
Not — no. Not exactly. I just...
[Her eyes flick to the door handle, gauging, measuring out the time she's got left.]
"Prompto" is for everyone. "Quicksilver" is just for me.
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[Just for her. His anxiety has to shove over a bit to make room for something else, or maybe it's more that that something else slides in between all those tightly-wound nerves, takes the pressure off, supports them warmly.
He scoots a little closer, fourth flask in his hand.]
That's okay, then. I mean...
[To be her Quicksilver, to live up to that--what was it she'd just called him?
It does sound a little heroic. And he can be that, just for her.
Maybe the guys aren't so off-base, with all the teasing. Still, he never felt this way for Cindy.]
I like it.
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Still, she inhales softly as the lightning officially begins winding down, and just like that she fixates on the task at hand again.]
Last one. Just like always, drop on three.
[This is the fourth one. The last one. The one that's most likely to be really bad.]
Here goes nothing...
[And once more, the drop is completed, as the lightning fades and the flask falls, and her fingers close around the new empty one just as —
...
...Nothing happens.]
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...Did we miss it? Are we dead?
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I. Uh.
[Hurm.]
I actually don't kn— YOW!
[Unconsciously, she yanks her hand back from the doorknob on pure reflex, as something flashes nebulous and dull like lightning within a thundercloud, and a moment later, the flask in her other hand shatters.]
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It got out of the flask. Is there anything to shoot? Can he protect her? If they're dead, death's going to have to go through him first.]
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That...
That wasn't a joke. That wasn't planned. That was reflex of his own, just like the reflex of hers that made her let go of the handle, except it was reflex to knock her out of the way of impending danger and to come up again to face it from behind the barrel of a gun.
He thought there was danger, and that's what he did.
And she's still there on the ground, wide-eyed, reeling from it, even after it gradually becomes apparent that nothing else is happening, and the moment of tension seems to be over.]
...
[Her mouth has gone dry; she has to remember to close it and swallow to wet her throat enough to even try to talk.]
I think it killed your jar.
[She swallows again, regroups, tries again.]
I think your jar took one for the team.
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Shiva's icy boobsicles.
[With that little blasphemy, Prompto lets his gun dissolve. His legs seem to dissolve, too, into a nerveless puddle--figuratively, of course, no more scary door spells--but it's not his first close shave with death. He's used to getting back up again, anyway. Still on his knees, he turns, face pale but eyes bright.]
Y-you okay? Did I hurt you? Sorry...
[He shuffles closer so he can help her up with arms that feel like they've been replaced with egg noodles.]
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The hell are you saying sorry for, you stupid idiot —
[IT'S TIME TO HUG IT OUT, I GUESS.]
You're so stupid...
[Presumably his shoulder, which her face is currently pressed against, is duly abashed by her opinion, too.]
Going and doing something like that...idiot...
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[Ebbing adrenaline makes him shaky, but she's holding him so tightly; she's holding him up. The reality of her arms keeps him grounded instead of fizzling out like that lightning spell. He might not quite be sure what he's being berated for, but her hold is surer than he is, and he responds. Heart pounding what feels like right against her, he wraps his arms around her and tries to catch his breath.]
Hey, I didn't do anything. [It's as much a part of moving and breathing as everything else Cor drilled into him before they left for Altissia.] You're okay, right? We're okay?
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[Her hand is still tingling a little with the residual aftereffects of whatever had gotten channeled through it, but the flask had taken the worst of it. Pretty much all of it, actually.
It's only after a while, once things are starting to wind down and she's out of fight or flight mode enough that she can contemplate nuance again, that she spares a moment to be pleased that she was right about the number of spells on the door.]
...I'm okay thanks to you.
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I...
[She's still holding him. Like he's something worth holding on to. He can hardly hear himself think over the thudding pulse in his throat. Maybe thinking isn't even a process that's restarted yet.]
I-I didn't do anything. I was just, like... the guy that hands the scalpel and stuff to the ones who actually know what they're doing. Personal assistant, you know?
[Those are two very different jobs.]
I'm glad we're not dead.