not dead. regrettably so. and it's here, as he releases her, as oxygen rushes back down her greedy throat, suddenly too-full lungs, that she realizes this is a moot point. she's not here to learn from him. she's here to run away, like a sick dog come to die. 

she closes her eyes and her throat rattles as she breathes deeply. ribs ache. her nose scrunches as heat gathers under her lids. no, no, no. she chokes it back down, sinks into that pink cloud, but even that comfort isn't there.

her fingers tighten, splayed against the ground, and then with a heave, she rolls up to the balls of her feet. she twists sharply, away from him, shame in her hunched shoulders. why does it matter that he see me like this?

surely she doesn't respect him.

"i'm done," she says as she makes for the edge of the ring. 

KING WAYLAND

☉

adrenaline courses through him even now, but he can feel it stilling. the air biting at superficial wounds, and he pushes down the urge to hiss in pain and annoyance. his eyes watch her, far more critical and awareness than what he usually let on.
[break][break]
he recognizes the story her body language tells; he's worn it for years.
[break][break]
"so the dragon retreats, tail tucked between 'er legs, eh?"
[break][break]
...
[break][break]
"who'd have thought one defeat would be all it takes ta defeat her. maybe princess really was more apt, ye?"

[attr="class","ooc"]freya morningstar[break]


[attr="class","pkspr pkmn-lucario"]

even his jabs aren't enough to stoke the fire. tail tucked between her legs because everything's gone and she's been at this for months and nothing's going to come of it. the wounds she's been wearing have reopened. blood seeps through the sewn-up bullet wound on her leg. her shoulder's still holding it together by some higher power, but she leaves a trail behind her as she limps under the rope. 

she slips, catching herself, suddenly feeling woozy. his words cut through the fogginess like a knife and she slouches to the side, stares daggers over her shoulder.

and then goes down.

KING WAYLAND

☉

king recognizes the signs far before it hits her. he stands there, a cocked eyebrow and a heavy exhale deflating his chest. the thud of her meeting the mat was echoing.
[break][break]
then, in the silence, a whispered breathe.
[break][break]
"fuckin' idiot."
[break][break]
approaching, king tosses the woman over his shoulder with a humph. next stop: the same fucking bed she woke up in earlier.
[break][break]
this was becoming a habit.

[attr="class","ooc"]freya morningstar[break]


[attr="class","pkspr pkmn-lucario"]

and then she's back up, thrust into the waking world and all its unpleasantries. the pain in her leg reminds her that she's human, that she's alive. pain reverberates from her leg and there's a throbbing in her shoulder. 

she sits up, peels up gauze and stares down at the new stitches on her leg. 

"you're a shit teacher, you know," she says, gaze lifting to the man whose bed she's in. 

KING WAYLAND

☉

the princess stirs, but the king doesn't move from his throne. the throne in question was a simple wooden chair, of course. he pushes his shoulders into the back of the chair, legs lifted and crossed on the tabletop.
[break][break]
"y'know, if ye didn't want ta get yer ass kicked, maybe ye should've gotten hit far less?"

[attr="class","ooc"]freya morningstar[break]


[attr="class","pkspr pkmn-lucario"]

she shuffles back a little bit more, gets herself propped. the stitch job isn't half bad, but it sure as hell isn't going to look too pretty when it heals. not that she's bothered by this. she lost her vanity a while ago, though she didn't have much to begin with.

she daintily presses the gauze back down. that hopelessness still lingers. she manages a glare. 

"so show me. i came to you for help, asshole."

KING WAYLAND

☉

"no, ye didn't." king doesn't fail to meet her gaze head-on and unfaltering. if she was a dragon, he would be something bigger and meaner. because the situation would always demand it.
[break][break]
"ye came ta get yer ass kicked and ta feel sorry for yerself." did she think she was fooling anyone, including herself? "now, i've kicked yer ass, and you look like yer wallowing in the 'woe is me' bullshit. if yer still not finished, we can head back ta the mat. but if ye are, and yer still interested in learning a thing or two, then."
[break][break]
he lets the end trail off as he raises an eyebrow towards her, waiting.

[attr="class","ooc"]freya morningstar[break]


[attr="class","pkspr pkmn-lucario"]

her glare turns hateful as his truths meet the walls she's erected around herself. no one has ever dared speak to her like this - so bluntly, so painfully true. she's used to liars and their sickly sweet words, of their hidden intentions. so she's stunned silent. 

and in that silence, she reconciles. the door is flung open and she's forced to see her own folly, feel the shame of her failings. not in the ring, but to herself. 

angry at the world and angry at alexander for leaving her? what a joke. angry at herself. 

and here he is, barely knowing her but seeing through her, burrowing inside of her, excavating her. thank you. change isn't a flipped switch, but he's uncovered her hand. he's given her the strength to pull herself up. 

"please," she says, softly now. "i'm ready."

KING WAYLAND

☉

"no, yer not." despite his words, they don't hold the same weight as the last ones. instead, king stands, undoing his intertwined ankles, and pushing himself to his feet. now, unhidden by his boots, a styrofoam box appears sitting in the middle of the table.
[break][break]
"not tonight at least." stuffing his left hand into his pocket, he moves towards the door and opens it with the other.
[break][break]
"tomorrow, 0900. eat, shit, 'n sleep again. wear the clothes next ta yer bed. and n'case it isn't obvious — don't be fuckin' late."

[attr="class","ooc"]freya morningstar[break]


[attr="class","pkspr pkmn-lucario"]