[attr="class","samjermain"]
During the battle for Dewford, Lydia felt something she had not in some time:
purpose. The familiarity of the battlefield was a comfort—like the embrace f an old friend or worn blanket. In those hours, she played a part in evacuating dozens of civilians. She assisted in the recovery of numeros League assets, going so far as to explode poisonous crates to keep them out of the wrong hands.
The gunshot to her shoulder and other injuries went almost unnoticed. The song and fire of battle raged through her veins. It was like giving a circus tiger its first taste of the outdoors in
years. But then, as suddenly as it started, the battle ended. She was dismissed to her home. And, just like that, the tiger was caged again. Its incessant pacing wearing groves in the floor. Its scarred limbs left to feel the
pain and
costs of that freedom.
And, with his temporary disappearance to parts unknown, Lydia did not even have the on-and-off detain of @amor to distract her from that emptiness. After a few days of bed rest, her arm still healing, she wandered from home in search of
distraction. Perhaps an ansswer to her questions. What
was this Gallade like creature who chose to accompany her. The robotic thing had been released a handful of times since arriving home, but it’s only desire seemed to be
battle.
Upon reaching the park’s center, Lydia tossed out the ball containing the Iron Valiant. The creature wthout a name—as lost and caged as its new companion. It pranced before her, the blade she almost impaled it on leaping to life in its limbs. Lydia sighed, eyes dropping to the cast at her side.
“I am afraid my sword arm is…infirm.” Her fingers gave a ripple at her side, wishing the damned thing better.
So, instead, the pink-eyes slipped to the Gallade and Lycanroc at her side. With a shout, the psychic-type leaped for its contemporary. Its blade flashed as the male rose a blade to defend itself. Lydia, meanwhile, dropped into the grass nearby. Petite legs curled in along themselves as a Lycanroc dropped into the embrace of a crooked arm.
“Try not to make him bleed. There is as much skill in appropriate force as in blitzkrieg.” The fairy-type’s eyes blinked on-and-off like a traffic light.
Blue eyes watched the clash.
Hungrily.
But, then, someone approached. For whatever reason, this person attracted the Iron Valiant—still a nameless hunk of metal—and its blade. With a beep, it leapt toward the trainer who strayed to close. Its blade lowered, the tip pointed at the interloper. Its face almost
smiled.
Huffing, the Gallade rushed after the robotic beast. Its arm lifted for pause. Images and emotions flooded through everyone’s mind. A stop sign on an empty road. A handshake with a gloved middle finger. This ended with an x.
“Excuse my—-nngh—” Lydia forced herself to her feet. The aching shoulder lit up like hellfire.
“--companion.” The Iron Valiant beeped in confusion.
“They are…new.”
To this dimension. To this reality. To existence itself.
[attr="class","samjer","samjertag"]