king is accustomed to the rather lax nature of his lucario. so, in those rare moments that the appendages on his neck flare, and xen's attention spikes, king knows to zero in.
[break][break]
a flash of speed has him racing to the door, nearly knocking the stumbling drunk to the floor. king's quick on his heel, and when he sees the bloody mess on the floor outside, his blood turns cold.
[break][break]
"ye god damned idiot," he growls out. "xen, clear the path." he summons another pokemon, an old-friend, though rarely used. the blaziken stands tall, assessing the scene.
[break][break]
"take 'er upstairs."
[break][break]
king will follow shortly after, rudely shoving past a couple of drunks for some rags, and an entire bottle of whiskey.
[break][break]
he takes a sip of it in the elevator, rolling his lips as the doors shut.
[break][break]
just another day, he tells himself. just another fuckin' day.

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

[attr="class","wizzcredit"]☉

despite it all, when he comes out explosively through the door, she smiles. the dried blood on her lips cracks, skin stretching, and then it splits again. she tastes salt on her tongue, but she doesn't care. he's calling her an idiot and it's music to her ears.

she winces as she's jostled. the feathered bird is like a down pillow; she curls against it as it follows king's orders. internally, she's stretching herself across her skin - forcing herself to feel the supernova on her shoulder, all the aches and dings in her bones. peppercorn ribs swell as she inhales. all these fractures to keep her awake. 

it works, mostly. she cannot help being dazed. slow to react, her lashes flutter after his door opens again.

"i came home," she says thickly. as though that can make up for leaving. as though that takes place of what she really wants to say - i'm sorry. 

KING WAYLAND

☉

king enters the room, tossing the rags onto the bed, and alcohol on the nightstand.
[Break][break]
he rummages around in the bathroom, coming out with bandages, disinfectant, and more. he, more than most, was prepared for a myriad of injuries.
[Break][break]
"ye certainly did," his expression grim, voice like churning earth. "even on yer hands 'n knees." his expression softens for a moment. then it shifts again.
[Break][break]
"ye god damned idiot."
[Break][break]
king works the lacing of her armor, removing it piece by piece.
[Break][break]
from the edges of the door, two small eyes, round and curious, peek out from the shadows of cerulean bangs.

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

[attr="class","wizzcredit"]☉

he moves and her one-eyed stare follows, greedily drinking in the sight of him. the taut knot in her chest loosens when he nears, even when she grimaces as he fiddles with the ties on her armor. that fire on her shoulder is stoked, fabric rubbing as he works it loose. the chest piece falls away, revealing torn black fabric, darker around the entry wound. some of the shirt is melted against her skin - a byproduct of her hasty patch job with the arrow. 

"i thought - ngh - you like when i get on my knees," she says with a tight-lipped smile, face pinched, hands shaking as she clutches the sheets.

movement in the doorway. she's scrapped for her life the past day and a half and reflex has her jerking upright, clasping king's arm in alarm. 

KING WAYLAND

☉

her vulgarity was typically welcomed. but, whether it was the state she was in, or the.. visitor, king can only give her a scalding look.
[break][break]
"quiet with that sh-" he's interrupted by freya's movement, her injuried body moving with surprising speed as she wraps her hand around his arm. his eyes follow hers, and he spots the small human as she ducks back around the doorframe.
[break][break]
"i thought i asked ye ta stay in yer room." his voice is chastizing, but significantly softer in its approach. it was far lighter than even what he's given freya morningstar in the past.
[break][break]
the eyes return, then finally, the small form of a child stands in the center of the doorframe. her eyes lock unapologatically on king, deep pools of blue and green, before they turn back to the injured woman on the bed.
[break][break]
she says nothing, only watching.
[break][break]
king sighs, removing the dragon rider's grip from his arm.
[break][break]
"lay down. i'll explain later. once yer not bleedin' all over my sheets 'n floor."

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

[attr="class","wizzcredit"]☉

a quirk of his mouth. a flicker of humor in his blues. anything to make her feel like she hadn't carved another canyon between them. but his reaction is not at all like him, except that he's short, and that's kind of like him. and then someone else replaces him entirely. 

freya's brows furrow (ow) and she doesn't let go. it's slow to process, but eventually her jaw falls, lips parted as a soft oh escapes her. that hair, those eyes, and the way he talks to her. 

anguished, still confused, she obeys without struggle. the rest of the fight leaves her. when he pulls her hand away from him, their distance is amplified.

"'m not still bleeding," she says. inaccurate. "much," she amends. more accurate.

stubborn woman she is, she reaches up again, but this time it's not from a frenzied panic. this time it's to touch his jaw, to stroke his lower lip, and say in a murmur, "i'm sorry."

KING WAYLAND

☉

how had he gotten so many stubborn women in his life? it was a stark contrast to his own mother — weak willed, and tempered by the steel of his father's hand. instead of making her stronger, he could only watch through the years she slowly began to crumble. he'd loved his mother, but he could never respect her.
[break][break]
he was at least proud enough to say that he both loved, and respected freya.
[break][break]
and he sure as hell wouldn't let his daughter bend or break for anyone.
[break][break]
still.. they were a pain in the ass.
[break][break]
"quit apologizin'," it's comes out as a growl, soft but frustrated. he grabs her by the wrist, looking down into the pools of defiance that now seemed to ache for his touch.
[break][break]
"yer gonna get what i have ta give ye when yer not dyin' on my bed, ye?"
[break][break]
good or bad? he'd leave that for her to decide.
[break][break]
meanwhile, he grabs the bottle of alcohol, takes a swig, and then offers her one. finally, he offers her a small slab of wood.
[break][break]
"open yer mouth. yer gonna wanna bite this."

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

[attr="class","wizzcredit"]☉

"no," she says petulantly as he takes her wrist. it's not often she has the urge to have her way with him; go figure it's here and now when she's half broken and anything more than lifting a finger makes her regret not letting herself pass out. relief sweeps through her at his endearing threat. only then does she really relax, drawing away so he can do what he needs to. 

the temptation is woefully strong, but she shakes her head slowly. she doesn't want to say too much about how much blood she'd lost and thinning it now isn't the smartest idea.

she'll have to rough it. she grimaces at the wood and takes it between her teeth, jaw clenching. her hands are safely removed from him and fist in the sheets instead. she looks at the mess of her shoulder out of the corner of her eye and then makes a noise in her throat, a nod to show she's ready. 

KING WAYLAND

☉

wood in mouth (hah), king gives the go-ahead to his blaziken. this wound, unlike the others, needed a triage greater than he could provide her right now. pouring a healthy amount of liquor onto the wound, he leans over the woman, kisses her forehead.. then holds her arms down in earnest.
[break][break]
the tip of the avian's finger glows a bright, smoldering red. he looks to king, then down to freya morningstar, but ultimately he places it onto the skin of her wound.
[break][break]
it burns, smokes, and the smell of human flesh consumes the senses.
[break][break]
but it does begin to seal.

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

[attr="class","wizzcredit"]☉

when she'd taken out the arrowhead and turned it over calcifer's tail flame as though roasting a marshmallow, she'd been too shaky to do more than guesstimate where the wound was. the scaled armor had superheated; her shirt had fused to sticky, bloody skin.

now, with the armor off, she realizes she hadn't closed it. not all the way, at least. and what she had done had cracked and started bleeding in patches. 

her shoulder flares under the drip of the whiskey and she inhales sharply, canines digging into the wood bar. a kiss on her forehead and she prepares herself as best she can. 

heat gets nearer and then her left side explodes. her head rolls back, throat convulsing as howls meet the wood, jaw straining and aching. her arms seize despite herself, but king holds her down. the skin twists and sears and tears slip down her cheeks and her leg shakes and her arm shakes and everything hurts. 

when he withdraws, she collapses, still shuddering. pain rolls over her in waves. her jaw slackens, but she has to work her tongue against it to dislodge it from her teeth.

she can't manage words. she just nods weakly. 

KING WAYLAND

☉

it might be the heat radiating from her body. it might be the fact that she's sweated and bled the past day and a half. but he doesn't need to tell her twice when he holds up the bottle of water to her lips. the relief on her sore throat almost makes her sputter.

she drinks greedily and quickly, draining it against wobbling lips. pink dribbles down her chin.

"no more fire," she croaks. she would rather a hundred stitches than go through that again.

he tells her to surrender to that waiting thing, those glinting teeth whispering to her to let go, but she cannot. her heartbeat thrums erratically, still stuck in a loop of fight or flight, and the burn on her shoulder is insufferable. she grimaces.

too much rocking her senses all at once. her battles blur together. the bodies she'd felled are thrice that of her own armada that had fallen, but their loss is an anguish plain on her face.

KING WAYLAND

☉