others come to all around them and soon the cells are a mix of violent threats and terrified screams. freya's cellmate, thankfully, doesn't lapse into despair, but curiously enough turns her interest towards one of the megalopolans. 

she shakes her head. "no, but i know of a couple who were there." Hyakkaryōran Tsubaki's incessant obsessive fears about them had made them wander down into the long dark of the ultra deep sea.

"they might be building another," she answers. bits of the ship they'd found on the quaestor lucis, pulled away seamlessly. "we think they want to - " but she's cut off by the arrival of their wardens. she turns with renewed interest, though tucks away the information she's just learned about her cellmate (useful in combat ((hopefully)). 

every bit of her wants to snarl and spit and summon fire, but she's stripped of her sygna suit, her dragons, her bow. all she's left is her pride, but even that must be stomached as she teethes at the chewy, poisonous food. with the alternative to slow and painful poison being an instant and bloody death, she'll take the former. 

she gestures for her cellmate to do the same.

"they seem as though their minds are their own," she says, voice low, grimacing as their toxic chains draw them to their cell bars. "so we bide our time. find allies."

work tumbling tera stones until their palms are scabbed and aching. she watches the guards, their rounds, waiting until they can make snippets freely. 

"the crystals. can we fashion them into anything? if we're careful?"

Aurelie Lefevre
PRISMATIC PENITENTIARY
ugly ward
elgUn09X

☉

the roaring moon is weak. its sides heave and it hisses in pain and anger and indignity as freya's shucking knife slips under the scalebed and into the infected flesh. lyra is by her side, life dew dribbling from her palms as freya cuts quickly and cleanly. 

the dragon remains fixated on its captor, a kinship kindled in the tinder of their vulnerabilities. it sees her and it knows what it means to be shackled, to be hurt. its muscles roll, spasming with nervous energy, and freya yanks her bloodied hands back. 

lyra replaces her and soothing waters trickle against the hide. freya wipes her blade and tucks it away. lyra stays behind to help close the wound as freya steps out, walking a short distance away so it doesn't spook from the scent of blood.

"those words you spoke - they're draconic. somehow, even though they're not from here, they know it. they recognize it." she wipes her brow, smearing a thins stain of browning crimson. "does this mean we're even?"

annalise henderson

☉

"somewhat," she says, giving a nonchalant side-eye to the pokemon of topic floating beside them. she doesn't know enough about the lake guardians or sinnohan lore to begin at why or what or how with her questions. 

the human counterpart, though, she can handle. 

"do you know what happens if we destroy it?" she asks. 

"and i want to know a few things, if you're willing to discuss it. i won't make you, but keep in mind that's as much an answer as anything." she pauses briefly. "where did the league fail you?"

Hideo Kino

☉

the dragons were more nippy around ana than usual. she thought little of it, attributing their strange behavior to hoenn's sliding scale of cataclysms and all the ways their behaviors have shifted with the change in environment. it was when she met her with aeris at her side that she really started to pay attention. 

she says, "i think lyune might sire again," and then, "my gods, ana, are you okay?" 

jacket shucked off, she wads it up and shoves it into ana's midsection, eyes taut with worry but with consternation too. the look of i know you haven't been telling me something and i've been minding my business, but come on, ana, please. 

"how deep did she get you?"

ana fell

☉

"of course not," she says. she's not a baker herself. she's a mediocre cook at best, but baking? that's beyond her. maybe she and delta could at the very least follow the instructions on the back of a box though. if he'll let her see her. 

her heart aches. 

she almost says, let me take you to dinner, but then she remembers herself. remembers them. back then, when she was still forgotten in the public eye, they'd gone to lunch. they were still careful, but now? there's no way they could.

"but we'll do something for you. so what is my gift?"

KING WAYLAND

☉

he doesn't seem to care, which doesn't surprise her. the wayland household never seemed too big on big birthday parties when he was growing up and becoming a turncoat probably meant most of your friends didn't want to take you out for drinks to celebrate. 

soon. i'll do something for him soon, she thinks, nudging her empty glass closer to him for another pour so they can clink. 

"to getting older," she says simply. a feat many of their peers can't boast. white names on gravestones - casualties of war and relentless states of emergency. 

"do you remember the cake you baked for me?" she says with a smile, a pang of longing. "a ferocious and delicious cake? you even did the icing yourself."

KING WAYLAND

☉

a witty remark. a reminder that eva still stands up for matias (which, quite frankly, freya sides with king on that point) despite all he's done. anything, something like that, is what freya expects, and when it doesn't, she almost thinks she misheard him. 

"i am."

she releases the breath she'd been holding, allows the thoughts and defenses that were spinning up to flutter away. and then she throws back the whiskey and leans in. 

"a gift?" she repeats. and then she straightens, almost alarmed. "your birthday! it was last week." when they were down there. when she was off handling resource gathering teams. when she wasn't here.

"i'm - i can't believe i missed it." and he missed hers, but that's besides the point. 

KING WAYLAND

☉

playful banter or not, she feels unremarkably silly as she digs her heels into the bar stool crossbar and stretches forward to curl her finger around the rim of the tumbler. even if nothing's broken, her muscles remind her of all her little aches and pains as she hmphs back into her seat, prize obtained. 

a roll of her eyes as he mocks her, a tucking of every finger save for her middle as she thumbs the glass to her lips, and the cheap whiskey burns down nicely. 

"you know her name," she snaps at once, leaping in defense of her partner. no, friend. because this eva was never yours. this eva will never be yours. her gaze darts away. memories not of her other self, but of this one - her own flesh and blood - with her mouth pressed against eva's in messy urgency resurfaces. 

"i left you with the book of my memories. you know what she did for you. me. us." even if he doesn't remember living it. "unlike you, she doesn't know what happened at all. she only remembers what you did."

KING WAYLAND

☉

he regards her, considers, and she leans foward just a bit, elbows on the bar. her fingers lace together. her head tilts and the corner of her lips tilt in a smile when he invites her to stay - not in so many words, of course.

she nods.

"i don't want to interrogate you," she starts instead of the burning dozen questions that are hot on her tongue. "but you could have complicated everything. and that is very annoying."

KING WAYLAND

☉

scrapes and bruises and a rattled psyche, but she's in far better condition than he's used to seeing her. matias' taunts on the pitch make her second-guess coming here, but she's no reason to be tailed. fernando is busy with other endeavors. and she's earned trust, countless times, with the league. 

still, she dons a hood and takes care, slinking in after dark when nameless is crowded. 

he's at the bar and some of her stress lines melt away when she sees him. even if her lips twist churlishly. first and foremost, she's here to chew him out. and she plans on doing so as she pulls up a seat in front of him.

"you're ceaselessly frustrating, you know that?"

KING WAYLAND

☉

it's not uncommon for her nightmares to follow her into the waking world. there are fractures, sometimes - slivers of another present bisecting this one. the bic pen in her hand is a feathered quill, the stones around her not stone at all but plaster. worse are the times when she flutters her lashes awake and expects to see honey locks spilled across the pillow adjacent to her, warm green eyes still heavy with sleep. 

always, the bed is empty.

this time, she does not howl. she does not struggle. she wakes to the thrashing of her cellmate and she holds her breath and slowly, carefully, she opens her eyes. the light is wan, but she can make out the shape of the bulbous chain around her neck.

she's near the bars themselves. one tilt of her head and she glimpses the rest of the scene - masked others are in their cells. someone to their immediate left (oscar clayton) demands a change of clothes.

her own pockets are empty. fingers tug experimentally on her chain, grasp roughly against the mask. nothing gives. when her cellmate talks to her, freya tries to place the voice. 

"as trapped as you are," she says. her throat isn't very dry. her stomach doesn't growl. "i don't know what this is. what can you do? skills? anything to get us out of here?"

she glances outside the bars, listening for allies. 

PRISMATIC PENITENTIARY
ugly ward

☉