MONGER

a glutton for war

“I DON’T CARE,” is his brash dismissal of her concern. shielded by the visage of his mask, fernando enjoys his false sense of anonymity. just because this friend can see past his veil doesn’t mean the others can.

the pyroar cares not for the opinions of wooloo.

“thanked?”

he scoffs.

“that sounds about right. no more, no less. regardless of what was promised?”

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
freya morningstar

MONGER

a glutton for war

THIS IS FAR FROM HIS DOMAIN. he holds no expertise. only borrowed knowledge that’s been parroted too many times before. where his hands rest? he cares not. for he does not reciprocate her movements. this dance is indulgence enough.

how much more will she take from him? an honest thought that bubbles beneath his mask.

“a trait i find disturbingly typical—ungratefulness.”

one of his steps flounders over another. not enough to throw off their balance but their own tempo suffers a strike against the backdrop of a purposeful melody.

“but let’s forget the ambiguity. what exactly does thank entail?”

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
freya morningstar

MONGER

a glutton for war

HER RESPONSE DRAWS HIS EYES ONTO HER ARMS. to her figure. to the prize he’s supposedly won for the night. and all he can do is snicker to himself.

“so you’ve taken care of yourself. how lucky i must be.”

he clears his throat as his steps come to a slow. her lead pulls his hands but he cannot hope to keep up with her steps. so he will turn, the axis of her revolution.

“to battle? thank you for trying to save hoenn, the place we live, once or twice in the past year.”

he smiles.

“forgive me for having such a huge ask.”

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
freya morningstar

MONGER

a glutton for war

“THAT’S RIGHT,” starts the beginning of his come back. “and how often have you cared about me, i wonder?”

the music starts to die as the festivities come to an end. but their conversation is not over. not now.

not ever.

for resentment and spite coils around current events. the longer hoenn dabbles in turmoil, the longer he boils from the broken blisters of an overloaded haul.

“then you will have to rise to the occasion i have so painstakingly prepared you for.”

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
freya morningstar

MONGER

a glutton for war

“I KNOW THE ANSWER TO YOUR QUESTION.”

the world empties around them. most carry on to the finale hurrah before the masquerade retires for the night. many will find themselves in the throes of friends and lovers. many will make it an evening to remember.

here, a different memory is made.

“were we friends?”

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
freya morningstar

MONGER

a glutton for war

“I STILL REMEMBER WHEN YOUR EYES WERE BRIGHT WITH FIRE.”

isolation makes their position dangerous. the invisible barrier of personal space is shed in the name of dance. this is what she asked for, no?

to dance the night away?

“when you spoke of insurrections, i tempered you out of concern.”

intimate is human touch. compromising is to hold someone else. there is warmth against the winter breeze. allure in the smell of someone who once wafted his attention.

“and when you abandoned your ambition and duties, i took them on.”

the dance is done. there is no more need for them to be embracing. his hands drop, in the same way she had dropped her role as councilwoman.

“and then you disappeared. only to call me when you needed me. when you felt insecure. when you wasted into nothingness.”

fernando distances himself from both her and the memories. the fragile husk of skin and bones no longer exists. here, now, is the taunt muscles of a woman who refuses to waste away.

“and i supported you then. i told you, you were more than enough. to believe in yourself.”

she had kissed him then, much to his surprise.

“and then you withdrew into yourself once more. back and forth. when you needed me. to feed you. to house you. to build yourself back up to the very person i see stand in front of me.”

and what had he asked in return?

“nothing,” he answers.

“that’s all i asked from you. all while i had to evade damaging that fragile ego of yours.”

he chokes out a bitter laugh.

“assist me in sootopolis? an excuse to help you reclaim your city and glory. to protect me? ha. a way to make you feel needed, to reestablish your self esteem.”

the distance between them is as apparent as the rift he’s committing into words.

“you asked me for strength. begged for it. and now you resent me for it. all because i asked you to live. because i wanted to see you happy.”

he takes off his mask.

“i was your friend. i did more than enough for you, freya.”

and he leaves it with her.

“but you did nothing for me except use me. you never treated me as a friend. just someone to use for your own gain, whether you recognize that or not.”

a substitute. the alexander who lived. the person who gave her everything she needed but would not baby her with the ‘kind’ words of who she wished he was.

his eye narrows in on her. by itself, it no longer holds the intimidation he once relished. instead, it holds a look of loss. the physical manifestation of what he’s sacrificed. for the region and by extension, her.

“your heart?”

a faux wager. he wins the bet for the sake of winning. the prize is of no consequence.

“you don’t deserve me, freya.”

it has no value here.

“have a good night.”

[attr="class","spiralpee"]
freya morningstar