elisabeth fiorelli is not the first rocket to have wronged her and those who have preceded her had outdone her handiwork. the memories are much like the scar in that it joins the myriad of others that mar her flesh and her spirit. casualties of war are plural by nature and while each one may tell a story, she's not the type to trail her fingers down them and relive them. 

if she were to discover just who she was following into the bathroom, she probably wouldn't care. so while elisabeth loses herself to what ifs and whys and mulls over the circumstances that have brought them together, freya thinks oh, this smells nice. 

since elisa had already declared her lack of affection for her, freya strips the rest of the way down. sober freya would be mortified at her lack of modesty, but sober freya is far, far away. she isn't even on this plane of existence. 

her hair tumbles over her shoulders, flecked with bits of stray vomit. purple bruises brush her collarbones, her exposed ribs (god damn it, KING WAYLAND). and that scrawling map of scars, hidden from the rest of the world, lay naked for elisa to see. 

she staggers into the tub, scrabbling on the walls when she almost loses her footing, and then sighs heavily into the small pool that's formed. she clicks her tongue and then frowns deeply, wracked with an irksome wave of loneliness. 

"will'ou...stay?" a pause. "'m freya. by th' way."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

she breathes out a heavy sigh of relief. there is the shuffle of footsteps, of clothes rustling as the woman folds her legs to kneel beside the tub. freya realizes, distantly, how alien an act like this is. she never had a mother to sit by her bath and untangle the knots in her hair. emma was the one who put the braids in. 

so maybe it's not so alien after all. even if, for some reason (the alcohol), she's acutely aware of her short-changed childhood. her lack of parental figures until she was nearly an adult herself. 

the bath bomb plunks into the water and around the hissing as it turns over itself, freya tastes the words elisabeth and elisa on her tongue. they're better than the bile, that's for sure. 

freya follows the shampoo bottle and then blinks up at elisa when she pauses, nodding a moment later to give her permission. but first she reaches up to undo the knotted braids, leaving only the short crop tucked against her head where her salamencite lay.

the steam rises, clearing out her sinuses, and she wipes a dribble of clear snot from her upper lip. 

"mmm. i liveded up there." she points to the wall of the bathroom. "morningstar estate." this is said slowly and enunciated as well as she can. "but pffffbt, rocket came an' snapped it up. all this place. my home." she frowns. "s'meone i met recently. he says is been ransacked. looted.

"but sophia 'n vincent...m'parents dead. so it doesn't matter, y'know? no one's home so there's no home."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

"two times. two timer," she blubbers, raising her hand. three fingers. wait, that's not right. she pulls one down and then shifts to show elisa the number for emphasis. suds drip down her arm and the water sloshes gently around her, threatening (but not going over) the lip of the tub. 

a mother made cruel by her own weakness to live past childbirth, and a father too cowardly to raise the baby girl himself. the only way they'd continued to haunt her throughout her life is through glimpses in the mirror, questions like am i not strong because of them? 

"i shud have another." she looks down. skims her fingertips over the bubbles and feels them pop against her skin. "but whaf i make a him innim an' then he's gone? again?"

she sighs and then looks around the steaming bathroom. settles her gaze on elisa. "you a lovely, lovely home now. is nice. good. warm." she pauses. "it's good? my people? you? are happy? i wanna take it back. make it good again. libat - liber - libershun."

close enough.

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

maybe freya could have put the pieces together if she wasn't eyes half-lidded and somewhat falling asleep under the rhythmic kneading on her scalp. elisa's talk of home, as sad as it is, is somewhat lulling. and petalburg sounds lovely, all things considered. she's never had a strong opinion about flowers, but swathed in their scent and made clean from a this lovely woman's hands, she thinks maybe she loves them now. 

when the hands withdraw, she cracks her blue eyes back open and yawns widely.

"restore th'spire. prote-hicc-ect them. agains' megalopla. league. rocket. tell thems the truths."

she pauses. "ask whathey want. whadyou want, elisa?" 

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

for freya, the answer had always been simple - to have a home and the strength to protect it. time and time again she's fallen short of that goal; the mossdeep invasion, the warfront that lost her alexander and her parents, the spurning of rayquaza. maybe, after all this and after her failure to fulfill her promise, she's lost KING WAYLAND too.

she dips her head and closes her eyes as elisa gently washes the sudes from her hair. it falls over her ears, drowning out the rest of the world. and then she shivers as water leaks into her ear; a clumsy hand comes up to tuck the starlit locks behind her ears.

like this, with her hair flattened and her face drawn, she's not nearly as pretty. her face is all angles, sharp and birdlike. she's not nearly as thin as she had been when she emerged from kyurem's realm, but the bulk of her muscle she'd gained under fernando's watch has mostly been eaten up. 

the sponge ghosts over her spine and she sighs into it, relishing the warmth. 

the comfort and security of someone close by. 

"buh we can't do 'at, can we? you 'n me. always starving." a blink. "oh mans, i'm hungry."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

by the time she had been adopted, she was too old to be doted on in the bath like this. some childlike part of her has bubbled to the surface. thumbs press down onto the bubbles, gaze wandering delightedly over the small rocking waves in the tub. and then the weight disappears from her back and elisa says all too suddenly that she's squeaky clean. 

and also that there's food to be had. 

feeling wobbly (because oh man, she could sleep now, all warm and fuzzy like she is) she somehow manages to get to her feet. some of the suds still stick to her upon her exit but she doesn't notice and therefore doesn't care. water drips down onto the bath mat and the tile, and a little on elisa, as she staggers out and reaches for the towel. 

"m'glad i frew up on you," freya says very sincerely. she doesn't really have the rest of the words to explain that one right now, but the sentiment is heavy in her words. 

after struggling into the robe, she scampers out of the bathroom with one last thankful smile. 

and into the kitchen she goes, hunting for something sweet. she finds it in baby carrots and a piece of what she thinks is a loaf of pumpernickel. not willing to hunt for silverware or handle the knives sitting pretty in their block, she savagely rips off a hunk for herself and then just slides down onto the floor, sighing through a mouthful of food. 

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉