freya sees double. the mask clatters to the ground, serpentine green flashing before her, and pieces of that night wriggle around in the back of her head. she reaches for another arrow, but the world pitches and she makes a face, a shuddering sort of a-heughck and coughs up more of that blackened blood. 

the group she'd stumbled across, the people who'd landed her in this fucking mess to begin with, had given her an earpiece. get to higher ground. try to get a signal. get out of here. 

now it's crackling with life. she reaches for it, but her hand moves past it to grasp a rock. with a grunt, she smashes it. 

"don't stay in there too long without a suit," she rattles and rasps in a tight breath. "try anything and i'll still shoot you." but her fingers are too weak and her head lolls back as her muscles scream for her to stop tensing and just let go. 

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

there is still a chance she could win. freya's no idea what the woman is packing, but in the time it took her to release a pokemon and order an attack, ori would already be upon her. as it is now, the salamence watches her tensely, coiled like an adder waiting to strike. 

she stares at the outstretched pokeball. with little bargaining chips, she's still at the whim of whatever the woman wants. and besides, there is something she's wanted from her. 

a bloody hand is raised and pressed onto ori's snout. the dragon curls his lips and hisses, but freya growls at him. which makes her throat rub the wrong way. she coughs up more of that sticky fluid mingled with blood and then gasps into a sigh. 

"unharmed sounds nice," she says through clenched teeth. "keep your distance though. for your own good." a pause. "because if i pass out, ori will be quick to act of his own accord."

they both know she can't recall him though. she'd be a fool to leave herself vulnerable.

with another rasp, "what do you think i have to offer you?"

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

it's hard to keep things together. it's hard to focus on anything other than the sun that's currently nestled in her shoulder, courtesy of her own hand (but at least she's not bleeding anymore) and the split lip, swollen eye, bruised ribs (cracked, broken?) - every breath is sharp and painful and dizzying. 

she focuses on breathing. it takes a bit for elisabeth's words to register. 

when they do, she stares with brows furrowed, but that results in a pained grimace and a snarl of irritation. she moves slowly while she mulls it over, fingers slipping against her quiver. 

another arrow rolls out into her palm. elisabeth might recognize the pink head of it. she might not. either way, freya weakly sticks it in the ground and it activates, basking the three of them (ori included) in a rejuvenating light. 

"the day i threw up in your lap," she corrects mildly.

she struggles now - plainly visible. to have it stated as such - he wronged you - is not entirely accurate. she had made promises; she had broken those promises. it was easier to believe he was in the wrong but here, as helpless as she is, there is a weight to be proven right - that she is nothing without his power.

"i asked him for help," she says finally. "and he gave me madness instead." that won't suffice. she knows it won't. 

she readjusts, sitting up a little straighter and groaning from the effort.

"have you ever felt one purpose? have you known fury? of course you have. now imagine yourself at the height of your hunt, where you knew deeply that you were the predator - starving and aching and desperate and ravenous for violence. that's where i was. for months. stuck in this hungry, empty body with only one purpose: to serve him." 

but that's what i wanted. that's what i asked for.

she coughs. more blood trickles from the corner of her mouth. 

Elisabeth Fiorelli
used heal pulse arrow!

☉

madness. that cruel and unrelenting force that he gifted upon her. it never gave her power. it didn't make her stronger. it gave him subservience. but he hadn't needed it then, not really. she was willing to die for him, to die for something, before she asked him for anything.

would she have seen through his guise if things had been different? 

she wouldn't have met king, surely. she wouldn't have been saved, truly saved, if he hadn't driven her into his arms. so in some strange, backwards way, she supposes she has him to thank. not that she's thinking of thanking him right now; no, she's thinking of when she'd crawled onto nevy's back and left king behind. 

when she hadn't said anything, knowing full well it might have been the last time.

ori shifts his weight and it wakes her up. she lifts a hand to swipe at the warmth on her lips, but her strength fails her. she turns her head at elisabeth's question, spits some of the acrid blood in her mouth. 

"there was no one else," she says. more bitterly, "and he was my friend."

the heal pulses die down. freya moves her arm, tapping tiredly at the quiver. the arrow that this one pops out, however, is dark green. she rolls it over to elisa and swallows thickly.

"don't touch the tip. it's imbued with poison." she grimaces and makes an effort to turn and face her. "the blade you wielded in littleroot was poisoned too. it made me sick." she coughs again and then gets to her point: "can you make it deadlier?"

it doesn't take much to put two and two together. the woman's pokemon were defensive. her own strike, even if it was a last attempt at survival, had been calculated. either she knew a supplier or she was a supplier. freya doesn't care either way. 

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

ori shakes underneath her and freya's gentle murmurs suddenly grow into one sharp, decisive snarl. and then the dragon shudders, but still his claws flex anxiously on the cave floor. freya drapes a hand over his snout and looks wearily up at the ultra beast. 

she has never been this close to one of them before and she has very little doubt it could obliterate her and ori with ease. her heart gives a painful, pitiful squeeze. why hadn't he stopped her? why hadn't he tried?

a noxious, coppery scent radiates from the beast. ori's tongue flickers in and out and freya leans reflexively back. but it's over as quickly as it begun; wherever elisabeth's z-crystal is, it's spent.

"nothing is ever enough to satisfy me," she says dryly. she reaches delicately for the glove and dons it. "but this is close enough." her movements are achingly slow and meticulous, but eventually she inserts it back in spot on her mechanical quiver.

at elisabeth's question, freya smiles and says, "yes, but not the one you're thinking of."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

for a time, she was satisfied. there was always work to be done, sure, but before the world went to shit, she felt fulfilled. she was making a difference, and that had been enough. now her hands are chapped and calloused; her body has lost all its soft edges, shaved down to the deadly edge of a blade. and a blade is always, always hungry. 

she doesn't anticipate the laughter, but it doesn't shock her. matias is, according to THEO BECKETT, a thorn in rocket's side. it's curious to think this woman doesn't know. then again, she could just be in the lower echelon of the faction, not privy to the sort of wayward deals struck with unimportant people.

"you're not the first today to insinuate i'm better off on your side," she says with a snort. at least she's not stabbing her while she says it.

now it's her turn to laugh. but that laugh rattles her sore throat, the on-fire, twitching muscles, and she breaks off into wet coughs. a hand (not the one that had touched the poison) comes up to rest on her breastbone. the heat flares, skin stretching and cracking like fire, gnarled cauterized skin rubbing wrongly against her undershirt.

without battle to keep her occupied, her exhaustion catches up to her. her pain comes back tenfold. she swallows through it, face pinching. 

"faction ties a - ah - aside, he's a threat to the people." one of her squeezed shut eyes opens to stare at elisa. "unchecked power like that..." she breathes deep, offering a wan smile. "mostly i'm hoping your poison can kill his god."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉