[attr="class","magnus1body"]
Fuck'n Arceus, he was sweating his balls off in here.[break][break]
Of all the fuck'n places, why a fucking desert? It was pretty, sure, pretty fuckn' hot. The endless dunes, the imposing sun from above that laid over all. It was already summer, it was already hot, and it was already pissing him off. The only times he liked being sweaty were in bed with someone else, in the ring or on the streets beating the shit out of someone.[break][break]
He can't blame
Keira Torres or
Marshall Slade for that though. In fact, Magnus doesn't complain a single bit. His willpower, his self, his pride? None of it allowed to show that weakness. He once read that kings of yore must be the most prideful. They must be greedier than all. And they must be able to endure everything, and bear the mantle of any hardship.[break][break]
His jacket is tied around his waist, and his undershirt worn like a bandana to keep the sun from his face, coated in water from a canteen he had on his person. He would drink none of it, which made him thirsty. Yet not a drop would be for him. If Kei or Slade needed it, he would make sure they got their water.[break][break]
A king must be willing to bear the weight of their people. Magnus would never falter in that regard. Not once. Not a single time.[break][break]
How long had they been walking with the sun beating their asses this hard? He almost wishes
ozias ambrose were here. At least then, he'd have a more compelling reason to get his ass beat than just the spooky otherworldly sun.[break][break]
Today, he had Jo-Jo the Riolu, and Halle and Berry the Houndour duo. Latte was still sick and staying at home, and tearing away Coco from Latte was like tearing away life partners. So, leading the charge with him, is the cowboy-hat-wearing Riolu, walking through the sand, with two tiny hounds walking with him forward. They would have a little of his canteen, and though the shirtless Magnus had none, they worried. For good reason too.[break][break]
When Marshall calls to his Noivern, Magnus wipe another bead of sweat from his body. He wouldn't show it easy, but he was becoming dehydrated. He made sure he only took the smallest swig of water to fight off it, but he would not falter. He wouldn't dare show the signs of his own thirst.[break][break]
He was often thirstier when it came to
Jasmine Blair or
Leilani Reinhardt, so this was nothing to sneeze at. A king had to be thirstier than anyone.[break][break]
"Good call on Bogie, Slade." he fires a smirk towards his number two, both his Houndours cooing out happily as little Jo-Jo hops up in the air with glee. His face is coated in sweat, the vest from above still helping to keep the sun from hitting him too hard.[break][break]
He presses on, hoisting up Jo-Jo like his own kid to ride upon his shoulders.
"Let's go see what our scout's found."[break][break]
He fights against his own dizziness, pressing forward. One foot in front of the other. He forces himself to breathe, and though the sun beats down from above, though his vision starts to blur... he continues on.[break][break]
Heavy is the head that wears the crown.
Marshall Slade,
Keira Torres[break][break]
NOTES
-
OUTFIT, SHIRTLESS, BOOTS, JACKET TIED AROUND HIS WAIST.[break]
- Magnus hardly drinks water, and he must show no weakness. He doesn't intend to. He must be Superman. The leader of Orthrus must be this way.[break]
- As Bogie finds something, he hoists up his cowboy hat wearing Riolu, and begins walking.[break]
- Vision is starting to get blurry. Good thing he has his vest on his head, dowsed in water to help cool him off.
