Leon
He/Him
27
August 17th
Alto Mare
Heterosexual
'Financier'
Civilian
Time is money. You are a waste of both.
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Leon Settentrioné
PRISMATIC PENITENTIARY
POSTED ON May 20, 2024 4:44:54 GMT
It burned. From this close the heat was intense, and as his 'guardian' did not see fit to grant him the boon of its ward the sparks and flames quickly caught. First were the sleeves of the 'uniform' he'd been forced to wear. Beginning at his elbows and searing its way either direction the fabric provided no protection from the blaze as it scorched along his arms. Next even his hair caught, sparks settling in the mess of his unwashed hair filling his nostrils with the stench of burning hair. On the bright side, it was far more potent than the scent of his cooking flesh and so he was spared that particular issue.
Fortunately the pain was soon mostly snuffed out as some sort of energy washed over him, shielding his body from the inferno and cutting off their sustenance. Normally he would have found this rather interesting, perhaps even suspicious, but with all that was currently going on it hardly moved the barometer of his notice. Though the searing pain was gone the heat remained, not even the magical ability being able to quench the heat that was so intense, even with the barrier, it almost burned him on its own.
That issue, too, was soon quelled. The beast began thrashing and lashing out which, combined with the chaos being inflicted to and around it, was more than enough to break his weakened grip. Leon was knocked aside, once more landing on the metal floor with a heavy thud and a pained grunt. This time he was unable to regain his feet, all his attention being diverted to simply rolling out of the way of the maelstrom of attacks and explosions. By the time he'd finally managed a moment of respite it was too late, and his stomach lurched as the ground beneath him disappeared.
The next few moments stretched into hours as his still battered body plunged through the darkness. It seemed to him that his fate was to die not to the blows of a rampaging beast, but the cold constance of gravity slamming him into the floor below. And yet, even as his mind began to come to terms with this, the hours contracted and time returned to its natural flow. Leon, fortunately, did not fall straight into the floor. Instead he slammed into a slope of rubble, the angle taking the brunt from the impact even as it rolled him down the rest of the way. He wheezed, dust filling his lungs even as the muscles in his chest spasmed from the force of the fall. Yet, he was still alive, and before anything his thoughts turned to Aubre.
Forcing down the pain radiating throughout his body he struggles to his feet, eyes casting around for the shock of red that would tell him she was okay. And there she was, like an angel in a storm, giving him a little wave as though they'd just run into each other on the street. It was almost comical. He embraces her, and for the briefest moment the world is calm, before shouts begin to spring forth from the crowd. Pulled begrudgingly back to reality, his eyes quickly scanned the room, noting the unfamiliar faces of the humans as well as the more identifiable features of the pokémon. His eyes narrow in rage at the sight of his companions crammed into the tubular vats; yet another indignity to return in kind.
Then the blast of power erupts through the room and he is momentarily dazzled. Blinking away the stars in his eyes he notices first the disappearance of the chain throttling him, a welcome relief. Next is the sight of the pokémon gradually beginning to emerge, and his grip loosens as Aubre rushes over to them. For his part, Leon pays them little mind. There are few he trusts more than the three steel types, and he sees no need to tend to them; they know their roles, and he knows they will fulfill them flawlessly.
Instead his eyes follow the various members of the assemblage filing into a nearby room, some emerging quickly, others not at all. Those that do return are not empty handed, and it takes but a moment to surmise they have discovered the storage area where their belongings wee kept. That their captors would keep both their accoutrements as well as their pokémon in the same place beggared belief, but to Leon it was yet more confirmation of their ineptitude.
As things were, for the moment, relatively peaceful, he consented to leaving Aubre under the watchful eyes of Victoria while he headed into the room to retrieve what was his, the Empoleon and Bisharp already sharp on his heels. The aliens he spared barely a glance, and only then to establish their capability as a threat. It seemed to be little more than a gaggle of refugees, however, and so he quickly dismissed them. When he found his items, he thoroughly checked to ensure nothing was missing, including the rounds in his pistol and the threadcount of the suit. Satisfied that all was as it should be he, without thought, shed the filthy, half burned garments he was wearing. Instead he swiftly replaced them with his suit, the feeling of the pistol nestled in its proper place beneath his arm more comforting than almost anything else he had experienced this week.
His attention was drown to the side as he buttoned his cuffs, and the sight furrowed his brow. Some woman was assaulting one of the aliens, slashing them across the face seemingly as nothing more than spiteful insult. Furrowed brow was accompanied by narrowed gaze. Leon had killed people, more than his share in fact. Death did not bother him. But he had never had a taste for the pointless tortures favored by some, finding it wastefully cruel. To him, torture was the instrument of those too ignorant to obtain their goals by more effective means. Needless to say, he was not impressed.
Fortunately for him, it seemed that some of the others were addressing the matter and so, though it rankled, he could relent in delivering his own brand of morality to the gutless heathen. Blue eyes landed briefly on the form of John Sullivan, his jaw tightening once more, before he turned away and exited. Behind him a gentle wind blew, and he felt his steps lighten. Some other manner of magicks, he presumed, quickly becoming thoroughly fed up with this storybook charade. Nevertheless, the rejuvenatory effect was not entirely unwelcome and, though his body still ached and the poison still burned through him, he was far more steady on his feet than before.
Emerging back into the laboratory his eyes are drawn first to his wife's voice, and thence to the object of her attentions. Once more his stomach writhes and his eyes narrow, his hand already moving beneath his arm as the pair flanking him tense. But then yet more intervene, and with a grimace he slowly lowers his hand and turns back to his wife. It is just as he approaches her that a howl rings out, and he instinctively moves quicker, wrapping his arms around her and holding her securely once more. Eventually the storm passes, and Aubre turns once more to herself. His arms slacken as she moves to do what she does best, and his eyes begin to roam the facility.
It is but a moment before they land on the group now assembling at one side of the room, and but a moment more before they are drawn upwards to the cacophony coming from above. Whatever he'd sensed following them appeared to be gaining ground on the scattered group; and it certainly did not seem pleased. Unsurprising, he supposed. Actions and reactions quickly raced through his mind, each examined in turn before either being discarded or placed aside in the eventuality that something more promising was not landed upon. While he did not know what it was that was approaching, it was safe to surmise that he needed to keep it from Aubre. Likewise it was plain to him that the display of force awaiting it was far more relevant than anything he could currently muster, and so to him the choice was obvious. But just as he turned to tell Aubre they needed to leave, she spoke, and he felt his heart wrench. On the one he was proud of her, pleased to see her acting more like herself than the frightened rabbit she had been at times. At another, however, this was possibly the worst time for it. In the end Leon could only sigh, a small, bemused smile on his lips as he stared into her eyes.
"I know, mi amore. This will end." He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Just not here or now. This fight is not ours." She turned away to her pokémon and once more the arithmetic started in his mind, calculating all the courses of action. His natural instinct was to form a guard with his own pokémon, but it was quickly apparent that strength in numbers was not the proper course; not with everything else going on, at least. As Serena moved towards the entrance he sighed, his hands quickly moving to recall all but the Bisharp at his side. Mobility would be greater asset than force or bulk, and so there was only one logical choice. Leon nodded at his old friend, who responded in kind. "Keep the lady safe." Without a sound the bladed pokémon moved to stand next to the Swampert, taking a protective stance just ahead of her, its arms pulled back and ready to rip shred anything that might approach her with a Night Slash."
Leon watches them for just a moment before he turns, placing a gentle arm around his wife. "They will be fine. We need to be elsewhere, however." She resisted at first, he was not surprised that she did, but soon they were moving, heading away from the crowded entrance towards the ephemeral safety of distance.
⚰︎ divider made by milky!
*Burned by the Hearthflame Mask *Knocked arouund some more and dropped again *Briefly reunites with Aubre and is joined by his pokémon *Retrieves his belongings and changes clothes, Noting freya morningstar and her actions with disgust *Likewise none too pleased with the attempted kidnapping *Moves away with Aubre McKenna-Settentrione to what he hopes is safer ground, leaving his Bisharp behind to help guard her Swampert, the former preparing to attack anything that approaches her with Night Slash _V5z_nH1 ·
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