she doesn't yet know if he has it in him to tame dragons. he's timid and easily flustered. not good signs to start off with, but not impossible. people like Gwendolyn Conway have flourished here, working among the dragons. still, maybe she's better off starting him with a goomy than the cross salamence and its anxious hissing. 

when the empoleon emerges, freya is satisfied and nods to him before stepping away to join lyune's side. his presence will keep the smaller female in check. 

"you can't hold back," she says. "salamence - they're ruthless. she won't respect you until you beat her. really beat her."

porter holmes

☉

a burden she hadn't realized she'd still been carrying is lifted from her shoulders. of all the regrets in her life, of which she has many, that has still remained one of her most painful. trust had gone up like smoke paper and the ash will never be wiped clean from her slate. 

the rest of the sanctuary is still abuzz with activity. nesting season is almost upon them and with the threat of an unruly roaring moon passed, tamers and breeders go back to rearranging items in their vicinity. 

freya takes them to an outdoor sink so she can properly wash her hands. she frowns down into the sudsy water. 

"my family taught me. they weren't draconids themselves, but - " what? what were they to the zinnia? to the family she never knew? had they known her birth mother? her father?

she realizes she stopped talking and finishes with, "they kept their traditions alive. and when they adopted me, they taught me too."

annalise henderson

☉

some sembleance of a plan, pitiful as it may be, begins to form. her cellmate's the engineering type and as she grows excited at the prospects, she achingly reminds her of ana fell . just as quickly does she burn away the budding likeness. wondering about the whereabouts of her loved ones will not serve a purpose here.

only working and waiting and planning for opportunity. in the end, they don't take from the pile of stones, an agreement made of practicality. they fear the retribution, having no idea the rules of this place, and when their fears are realized, freya closes her eyes and wishes she could unhear their screams.

"it's freya, by the way. my name. freya morningstar," she admits to her partner, an invitation to a pact.

but before all that - before the dripping viscera and the crowning of their accomplishments, she sees a mark of her own making. silver and rough, in the shape of her own teeth, and then it takes only a heartbeat to remember him.

as he was -

they stand on a patchy knoll. grass tries and fails to grow through the rotted soil, this far from the inner walls. bodies lay around them - twisted limbs and macabre shapes that bleed more poison into the earth. her hand drifts from an iron crown on her head and down, without looking, to find his. they don't talk much, the two of them. they never do. but sometimes they reach for each other.

a small comfort for the touch-starved souls they are.

as he is -

an amalgamation of hatred, god-touched and stripped of what little humanity had once remained. rocket's wolf had died in galar, but that fading watercolor ink had been his resurrection. the memories on her conscious are riddled with holes. too long she's gone without reminding herself of the history, tracing logs in a blood-stained diary.

he's better off forgotten.

the hours blur together and firstly, she clasps hands with her cellmate, trusting her because who else is there to trust? "stay close to me," she urges and then another's hand slips into hers. she knows him before she sees him and emotion burns way to logic.

he has the strength to get us out.

she turns her head and behind her mask, golds glimmer. wordlessly, she squeezes tightly, holding onto him as though he were a figment to a forgotten world, just as he had been in that faraway dream.

their warden presents them a game. two stand out to her with their familiar voices, both fighting their inevitabilities. frustration knifes through her. indignation and refusal has come back on others seven-old. do they not understand that there is no fair here? that they might make it worse yet for them all?

"the weakling ward," she says loudly, voice thick with conviction and so very staunchly, recognizably freya.

her decision is made with ease. had that been Isaac Merlo up there in the dummy ward, beaten within an inch of his life?

PRISMATIC PENITENTIARY
ugly ward

SPOILER: Click to show

tells aurelie her name
mostly fluff about jayden hey bestie
angry with yuina and navy (though she doesn't recognize them)
chooses weakling ward. feel free to recognize her.

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he doesn't leave her in suspense. when she follows after him, she tugs on the edges of her hood, shoulders drawn. the regulars recognize her though. the ones sober enough to see past the shadows on her face.

in the stairwell, she raises a brow, but doesn't comment. by the time they get to the top, she's drawn the hood down and tugged her hair out. the braids are newly spun, kempt and shining. taking care of herself hasn't felt impossible since their reconciliation.

upon seeing the sauropod, she instinctially reaches for a ball at her hip, but the creature does not act aggressively. unlike gouging fire and walking wake, she hadn't managed to see a raging bolt up close, nevermind catch one. but once the initial shock is gone, joy tumbles out of her, breath stolen.

and it's not because of the dragon. it's a thoughtful gift, but this one means more. seeing her means more.

it hits her, in that moment, and it hits her hard. that little girl, with king's eyes and king's smile, looks at her and she thinks, i could have lost you because of my choices. her throat thickens and she covers up her inability to talk by skirting to the bolt's side, laying a hand on its hide.

KING WAYLAND

☉

it's the exact opposite of what she'd been expecting and while freya's gotten better at covering up emotions like frustration and anger, surprise slips its way through with a dramatic gasp.

"ana, no - what? you can't just - " give yourself surgeries, she wants to say, but isn't she already? hasn't she already? isn't that what she does every so often? scrambles around her brain to shut out the horrors and make more room for the happy, perfect her?

she struggles between chastising her and calling medics over. in the end, she settles on a scowl ana's seen before and says, with feeling, "at least tell me you've had a healing pokemon look at it. you don't want it to get infected."

ana fell

☉

"interdream mist," freya says, but she doesn't elaborate. she can't. she knows the sparknotes version of most of the research done by the league. ask her about the finer workings of the stuff, how it's able to create this, and she'll only shrug her shoulders. 

while ana calls upon the help of some more of her pokemon, freya takes a couple of steps closer. tentatively, she reaches out a hand and places it on the creature's side. it reacts. it reacts as though she'd touched flesh, turning its head, the plates on its back shivering as though she'd pet a mudsdale. 

"i don't know much about the circuitry versions. the only paradox pokemon i have are roaring moons. but sima 2.0 - is it sentient? or are they programs?"

ana fell

☉

"good, yes," she says with a wave of her hand. "whatever you need." security checks are no doubt already in place, but additional measures to ensure none of their employees are undercover rocket operatives will hopefully be enough to dissuade anymore closely kept secrets. 

"melody?" she repeats, surprised. after their discussion in her elite four chambers, she would have hoped she could have at least trusted her with that information. it could have slipped her mind, she thinks, but something of this magnitude is too important to simply forget.

her glass is, yet again, surprisingly empty when she goes to take another sip. she sets it down on the table and massages her temple, grimacing when he brings up the discussion surrounding sootopolis. 

"i had no idea we were opening a discussion of attack to the leaders. they're not military operatives; you and i know that. things are getting muddied. i'm not a godsdamned pencil pusher who can draw lines in the sand, but i feel like they need a damn flow chart at this point to understand their own duties."

paxton concordas

☉

freya, on the other hand, is not swayed by its apparent cute charms. her lower lip does not curl and her eyes do not give away the mistrust, but there is a careful mask of dissonance placed upon her face that does not suit the situation. she avoids lam's gaze and examines the fruit dish she'd left out for it instead. 

lam's question is met with an enthusiastic trill and a spinning of its self, ribbons dancing elatedly. 

the lights above them darken, made mute by a purple and pink cosmic power that leaks up from the floor. freya backs up and readies a hand at the belt on her hip. the room is slowly swallowed in darkness by a motley of color and then, all at once, stars explode above them. 

stardust swirls, leaving her skin feeling electrified. a shiny, protective sheen ripples over the jirachi's skin and it floats away from them, still spinning, laughing joyously as though waiting for their response. 

lam logan

☉

her warning has become a premonition and all too soon do agents of rocket grace their presence in such a timely manner. her scowl is made apparent, but the exchange makes her think of a low-level shakedown more than anything. still, she can't discount them - not with a genesect at their side and especially not after the runaround the other one gave them back on the shore. 

electricity sizzles around the area and makes her hair stand on end. remiel's affinity for the element is a given, but she eyes the genesect warily as she draws her sword from the scabbard at her hip.

"kirimu," she says in response to remiel's question, "docar." brilliant white and orange flames spurt from the roaring moon's maw, bathing both her and remiel's silhouettes in gold.

Remiel Calcifet oscar clayton mint frost

☉

"we need to learn all we can about these realms," she says, pun going completely over her head. petra is a knowledgeable person and a refreshingly familiar face. too many league representatives are spread thin with the constant pressure of changing threats. 

micolash stops briefly outside the gaseous field. kelp floats by them. nihilego drift upward from the vents, paying them little mind. the sight of them makes freya scowl, but they leave them well enough alone now. the alien at their head is enough to ward them off. 

"yes. amidst a clutch that attacked us. he had my blood on him. i think they would have devoured him." the naganadel's neon gaze slides over her and then back out to the sea, wings carrying it through a path of safety around the vents.

"have you been to - " 

'freya - ' comes the whisper - a scratching, keening, thumbing at the back of her brain. she clears her throat and continues: 

"have you been to any of the others?"

PETRA MONROE

29. hear the deep calling your name, attempting to bring you deeper into an endless abyss.

☉

she wonders after vortigern and what's been made of the dragon since the day the grizzled bear before her beat him into submission. stripped him of his pride so he might look upon navy without scorn. 

a monument to a lie. what a dreary sentiment. if it's a lie, what do they work towards? what is all of this, if not for this semblance of peace? no, she'd rather hope this a monument to their future. their honest future. 

still, he talks of fighting to the end, as though there is an end, a triumphant moment where peace is had. saved. coddled. but that's not true either. it's never safe; it's always contested. 

the people at large will enjoy it, for a time, but there will be some who can never stop fighting to protect it. like him. like her. 

she says, "there'll always be a new evil." and lyune bathes the battlefield in white-hot flames.

Navy

☉

the simulation fades behind them, building a new one in its place. even digitally rendered, the dragons are nothing short of magnificent. the confrontation between the two men fascinates her, as do the options that float on either side of them as time slows down. 

Remiel Calcifet speaks of his ideal world, the voice of his patron a benevolent roar. with no reshiram to stand in his way, what would that world look like?

she nods to elise and moves to the side with the black yin.

Elise Calcifet

Side with ideals
Receive 1 CURIO

☉