He was just a man; not a powered brat, nor a senshi b***h, nor a knight child. Just a man, sitting on a bench, staring at a fountain that was streaming water in gentle ripples over the white marble edges, a glittering, crystal clear pool beneath it to catch it all. Pennies and dimes and other various coins littered the bottom, glinting in the silvery moonlight from above.
It was stupid to come here on your own. It was stupider still to come here at night, when there were dangerous things lurking about.
The park was well lit, but the bench upon which he sat was slightly more enclosed than the rest of the place, large shrubs and plants coming up in a semi-circle around the fountain. A secluded, private area for romantic trysts, and people who didn't want to be disturbed.
Gentle. Peaceful.
A breeze rifled through the air. It carried with it the faint scent of a fire, or the remains of one, or something that had burned. It tumbled sweetly over the fountain, played across the surface of the water, and caused small ripples to expand outwards in the pool, lapping softly at the marble edge.
The shadows around the shrubbery seemed to twist. The shifted darker, darker, and there was a faint rustling noise that seemed to be emanating from one of the thicker copses of trees and leaves, as though something - or someone - was waiting just out of sight.
A cloud passed thickly over the moon, muting the light, and the shadows grew.
A pair of gold eyes blinked open, watching.
frayedflower
Posted: Sun Jul 22, 2018 12:29 pm
Lorne had come back with the letter.
He'd been so busy since he'd run into Auguste here, what with work, Nadia, everything. As always, he hadn't forgotten about his friend. He'd just had to put it off a little. He only had to hope Ploutonion didn't mind, although it was a bit silly to worry about since it wasn't as though the letters ever had a set schedule besides the fact that they inevitably came.
If Ploutonion was reading them. Someone surely was since he hadn't come back to a pile of letters stuck around that loose stone, so unless it was the garbage man who was privy to his hiding spot or something then - positive, just stay positive Lorne. He really didn't want this to have all been for nothing and for Ploutonion to truly believe the Order had forgotten him. Even if it was just a letter, still...
Then he'd become introspective. Too many things had happened in this park. He'd met Nadia here, more than once. He'd been injured here. More than once. He'd lost his friend here. Once was enough. Battles, romance, training, meetings, so much in this one little expanse of nature, so many memories good and bitter here.
It was peaceful there. Quiet.
Until it wasn't.
Lorne didn't start at the rustle, but it did remind him that this park was prone to violence and drainings at night, and he didn't particularly feel like trying his luck in such a place as Mont Blonc just yet. So he stood up, brushed off his pants, and tried to ignore the prickling at the back of his neck as he turned to head for home - well, okay, a hotel was hardly a home, but -
The anger of Lorne's disappearance had resonated deeply and unpleasantly with Archer Wren of Destiny City. He had spent the last several years keeping meticulous tabs on the man, until, quite suddenly, he had gone. And this, it transpired, had lasted for two years now, and it was less a problem and more of a bitter, infuriating, grating sensation that he could not quite seem to let go of the way normal people would have.
But Archer Wren had not been normal for a very, very long time.
A gust of wind tumbled across the park, sliding effortlessly and with just a little bit of a whistle to it across the surface of the fountain. More ripples appeared in its glassy surface, but he wasn't watching that. He was watching the man across from him rise from the white marble bench he sat on, a hand brushing over his pants, looking as though he was about to leave.
That would not - and could not - be allowed to happen. Not now. Not after he'd stumbled across this, not when this was something that he had wanted to know for years now, and it was right here in front of him - like dangling a steak in front of a starving man.
Or a hungry wolf.
The bushes rustled again, shadows elongating as he moved through the thicket of leaves and branches. They clung to him, but he pushed them aside, blackness spilling at his feet, and then he emerged, slowly, from around the side of the fountain, moving soundlessly, ears upright, tail twitching slightly.
"Going somewhere?" Wolfeite asked, voice a low, deep growl - slightly muffled under the mask.
"What a shame."
frayedflower
Posted: Fri Jul 27, 2018 2:29 pm
Lorne froze in place as the rustling escalated into something more than the breeze wafting harmless through the leaves of a bush, his bright yellow eyes wide as he realized what he'd stumbled onto. Immediately, his hand went to his back pocket, feeling for the outline of his pen there before he even made out the full form of the officer before him.
He knew this city. He knew the danger of this park. He shouldn't have come alone, not at night, not as Lorne - rattling through his own mistakes would do him no good in the moment. Panic welled in him like nausea, and he took several steps backwards, trying desperately not to panic as he took in the details of the man that was approaching him.
Only it wasn't a man. Not really. It was an officer, surely, although what level he could only guess at since he was Lorne and not Mont Blonc. That mattered less than the details nearly lost to the darkness of night if they'd not been highlighted by the lights of the park. Ears. A tail. Claws.
He thought back to the officer he'd fought so long ago, the one who'd been as much a spider as a man. That had been horrifying to him then. But facing this thing now, with the outlines of fangs on his mask and what looked like blood staining his uniform, suddenly the memory didn't hold the impact it once had. The officer's eyes were yellow, similar to the shade that Lorne's were, and they were the easiest thing to see clearly about him, made brighter still by the darkness that encircled them in the most unnatural way.
Stupid. Stupid. How could I be so stupid, I -
He tried to quiet the voice that would do nothing to help him, glancing instead left to right in hopes that maybe something he could be done. A safe place to transform, because even if Mont Blonc was not strong, he was much more capable than Lorne. He could hold his own, call for help -
There were bushes. He could try those. Would there be enough time?
If he finds out who I am, though...
He took another step back, only to nudge another loose rock with his shoe. On an impulse, he crouched to grab it, although his eyes did not leave the officer.
"I - I d-don't want t-trouble, " he sputtered out, "Please."
Throw it and run? Would running be enough? Was there somewhere safer to transform nearby? "W-who - wh-what do you want?"
This was Lorne, at his most vulnerable. Lorne, exposed, alone, and completely at the mercy of Wolfeite, who stood there watching him with his ragged tail flicking from side to side, the ears on top of his head flattening dangerously down into the wild, tangled hair.
Beneath the mask, he licked his lips. Adrenaline pulsed through him, a tantalizing rush of a feeling, a hunger that seemed to slowly claw its way through him until it overtook him, burying him in need so that his mouth almost watered with the thrill of it.
He wanted to bite. He wanted to sink his claws into skin and tear.
Wolfeite took a slow step forward. "You don't want trouble?" he repeated, voice low, a growl threading between syllables, something rough and slightly inhumane. "How very noble of you, little human. How very thoughtful of you to not want trouble."
He paced ever nearer, his golden eyes glinting in the blackness that surrounded them. Shadows curled their way around his feet, and a drop of blood fell from the tip of a clawed finger, spattering red on the grass. A gentle breeze, stark in contrast to the severe intensity of the moment, floated past them both, rustling leaves and branches.
"What do I want?"
The question was a loaded one. Wolfeite drew right up close to Lorne, still taking his time, because he knew that he would be faster, knew that he had the very clear advantage here.
"An easy question, right now, little human," he said, and with lightning fast reflexes, his hand shot out, claws digging into the front of Lorne's shirt. He dragged him forward without hesitation, before he could turn and run, and there was a feverish, manic glint in his eyes now.
"I want to watch you break," Wolfeite snarled, and threw him bodily to the ground.
frayedflower
Posted: Fri Aug 10, 2018 8:25 am
Oh, this was bad. This was - he hadn’t been in a situation this bad in years, and never as Lorne. Mont Blonc had gotten himself into some s**t situations. Starseeds stolen. Chaos zapped straight into the core of it.
This was so much worse. He didn’t have speed, power, anything on his side but his own wits. And he was clearly not this creature’s first victim; it was too easy to imagine his own blood dripping from those claws.
His heart was pounding so loud in his own head, maybe it was sort of a wonder he could hear this thing at all. As it paced closer, Lorne turned, tilting his body so his eyes never left it. His fingers stayed curled around the rock, and he hoped that was enough of a distraction as he fumbled for the second weapon of choice behind his pen, brighter than brute force: his phone.
It didn’t matter who he called. Nadia. Auguste. Colin. What mattered was he got the chance to call someone.
He made a sound of surprise in his throat as the monster grabbed him, jerking him forward before he had the chance to resist.
I want to watch you break, and the words ran like ice in his blood before he was flung like he was nothing. Lorne hit cobblestone and rolled, half from the force and half from trying to right himself, wind knocked out of him, ribs, knees, elbows, all of them aching from striking stone.
He’d lost the rock he was clutching. Not his phone. So as soon as he was able, clumsily at first, he moved to run.
It would be useless. But maybe if this beast wanted to toy with him so…
He fumbled with his phone; he didn’t even need the receiver by his ear. If he could just get out a call, any call at all…!
————————-
It was such a delight, watching him scramble. Wolfeite had spent the last two years in a towering temper over Lorne’s disappearance and his attempts at running away, and now - now he had a chance to rectify that. Now he had a chance to rectify these last few years in a manner that was befitting a pet.
Lorne was trying to run. It wasn’t going to work.
Wolfeite gave him a moment’s respite, then reached down and seized him by the back of his shirt and hoisted him up again, dragging him back against his chest. His arm shifted positions, twisting, and a clawed hand found its way to Lorne’s throat, pinning him there, his other hand gripping Lorne’s hair in what was surely a painfully tight grip.
“Going somewhere?” he asked in a low, calm voice, though the growl was always there, a persistent roughness. The mask was muffling his tone, but it was clear even around it, eyes flashing dangerously.
“I wasn’t finished yet,” he said, and all but threw Lorne sideways, towards the fountain.
-----------------------
Lorne had just enough of a chance to mash some buttons on his phone before he was jerked backwards, sending the device skittering over stone like a rock over water.
A yelp started and died in his throat as claws were pressed there, and he pushed himself back hard against the monster’s chest, more trying to escape claws than get any closer to him. Not there there was really anywhere to go. He hissed lowly at the grip in his hair, and he didn’t even have time to begin to process how he might escape when he was being flung again.
Stone, again, and Lorne was barely able to keep his head from striking it. The rest of his body howled in protest, water rushing over him and a shudder coursing through this body as he scrambled to pull himself up. But the slick stone made it hard.
His first instinct was to plea again. His second said it was a waste of breath. “H-h - why?” Not that any negaverse officer needed a reason.
——————————————
It was so nice - so very, very nice.
He wanted to sink claws into tender skin, to tear the flesh, to rip the beating heart from his long, lanky body - but he also wanted to keep Lorne alive, because Lorne was his, and Lorne was always going to be his, no matter what the man said. He could try to run away, he could try to disappear to another country, but it would never be far enough.
Wolfeite would always find him in the end.
Water cascaded over the sides of the fountain in messy splashes, Lorne sputtering as he tried to get up. Wolfeite watched him with interest, head tilted to the side, arms at his sides. The ears atop his head were still flat back against his hair, chest rising and falling rapidly with barely controlled adrenaline.
“Why?” he repeated, in a soft, dangerous voice. Wolfeite lifted a clawed hand, dragging at the straps of his mask, tugging at the buckles until it came free, until he could push it from his face and let it fall to the side.
Slowly he walked over to Lorne. Slowly he knelt down beside the fountain, resting on his haunches and looked at the sodden man in front of him.
His mouth stretched into a wide, vicious, dangerous grin that was nothing but sharp teeth.
”Why not?”
----------------------
Lorne was afraid. And who wouldn’t be, soaked and aching and floundering, knowing their own weakness, knowing the potential to do more for himself was literally tucked away in his pocket - and knowing that same potential would be signing off on the death of Lorne as he was now.
Would it be worse than death itself? - but if this thing wanted to kill him, wouldn’t it have done it already?
No, he thought to himself with an icy lance of fear, because it wants you to suffer. This thing is going to rip you up into pieces so small that Nadia won’t even know it’s you.
The monster was dragging off his mask, and Lorne struggled hard for more options. Something, anything - was his identity worth dying over? - dying, he could die here, or worse, not here, but eventually, he could die, he would die, he didn’t want to die, didn’t want to die, didn’t want to die - the fear seeped through him like venom, numbing his limbs with every step the monster took towards him -
Until it occurred to him, sitting there and staring into the fanged jaws of death itself, that fear was the fastest road to the thing he was so scared of to begin with. There was no one else at stake here. No one whose life depended on his if he didn’t relent.
He’d fought before, caught on the jowls of death when no one else was at risk. He’d even killed, once, and the memory still haunted him. But it could only haunt him because he was still alive. And if it came down to death or losing himself to the negaverse, then...
Either way, to do nothing was to lose without trying, and he was at least better than that. He was afraid. But he wasn’t dead yet. He’d trained for this, to do what Lorne had never really done before: to protect himself, to live. Use it.
Yellow eyes narrowed just a fraction before he straightened himself, swinging his arm forward and aiming a fist right at that mouth of razor sharp teeth.
Those big, baleful, frightened eyes. The paleness of his skin. The way his hands shook, because he was afraid, and because it was Wolfeite that was making him afraid - Archer that was making him afraid, even if he didn’t know it was him. Lorne was, in all aspects, a beautiful and fragile thing.
A beautiful and fragile thing that would inevitably be crushed to dust. Wolfeite’s fingers were itching for it. One ear twitched upwards, almost back to their unthreatening, upright position while he watched, his chest rising and falling, ragged breaths and glowing gold eyes, waiting, waiting -
What will you do now, little human?
Wolfeite’s grin spread across his face.
And then pain exploded across his jaw.
He had not expected to be hit. He had expected tears, more pleading, some begging, maybe even some of Lorne staring more at him with those big yellow eyes of his.
He had not expected pain.
Wolfeite reared back, jaw snapping together with a scrape of sharp teeth. He toppled into the grass, the rocky walkway scraping at his uniform, ripping tears in it, and he let out a furious snarl, his head ringing. Blood began to drip down from his nose, smearing across his face as Wolfeite lifted a hand, swiping angril at it.
His eyes burned, staring at Lorne, Wolfeite pushed up on his elbows, his face a twisted mix of stunned fury and outrage.
“You little s**t,” he snapped, and shoved himself to his feet, swaying slightly. “You mewling little brat.”
-----------------------
There was a moment where Lorne’s gaze snapped between the wolf and his own fist, his eyes wider than saucers. I did that.
He’d been taking self-defense classes, true. He’d been trying in all these little ways to make himself more capable for when he came home, but he’d never had to put it to the test. To be honest, he hadn’t even wanted to put it to the test. But…
The last times he’d lashed out, back before any of this, it had always felt wrong. The misplaced jab of his pen sinking in and ending a life. The desperate struggles against general after general who seemed intent on ruining him, or worse, everyone he loved and cared for. He’d felt guilty. Useless. But…
This was so different. Lorne felt good. Not for having hurt someone. That was not him. But even as Lorne, without the magic and the power bolstering a helpless cause, Lorne Benoit had stood his ground against a general and landed a blow.
He got to his feet, also wobbling as his aching body screamed in protest, water cascading around him as he stared with narrowed eyes at the monster. It wasn’t that he expected to win, and he really didn’t know what would happen.
Somehow, it seemed to matter less in the moment than one thought roaring through his head, clear as day: I will not break.
This was not the way things were supposed to have gone.
Lorne was fragile. He was breakable. He was the type to cower in fear and shame, not stare at him with those blazing yellow eyes of his, filled with a sort of confidence and determination that Wolfeite had never seen from him before, even as Archer Wren.
It sent a thrill of simultaneously excitement and anger lashing through him.
This is not my Lorne.
Except that it was, because Lorne was always going to be his. Because Lorne was going to be his, regardless, and there was no stopping that, this was not how things went.
Wolfeite lunged, claws swinging, a snarl ripping from his throat.
You can’t escape me you can’t run away from me
Stop -
-----------------------------------------------
Again, it was like slow motion, watching a monster come flying at him - this time, mind games aside, with all the intent to hurt, maim, or worse - but somehow even knowing he was going to get hurt, Lorne did not give in to his fear.
Instead, he braced himself. He gritted his teeth. The monster was not invincible. The monster was wild, but careless. Even if no one came, he was going to stand his ground until the last.
And that’s exactly what he did. He involved the self-defense training and tried to use it, even as he gave a ragged gasp when he felt claws find purchase in his skin. But instead of screaming and crumbling in the wake of it, Lorne’s usually soft voice rose up into a bellow that didn’t feel like it had any place in his throat. He moved to try and use the general’s force against him, attempting to throw him off guard and get in another blow of his own. If not that, then to grab, to pull, to bite - to do anything he could in this that would not leave himself too open to more pain.
------------------------
Lorne was fighting back.
He had never fought back in all the years that Wolfeite had known him. He had never protested, not really; he’d always let Archer do whatever it was that he wanted, because in reality, Wolfeite knew, it was what Lorne had wanted too. The intimidation and fear had started after their supposed breakup, and it had worked up until now.
Up until this moment.
Hands came up against him, grasping at his hair, yanking, fingers sinking in, Lorne using every ounce of strength and ability he had. Wolfeite snarled, shoving back just as hard, and he had the advantage here, he knew it; Lorne was just a civilian, just a man, whereas he, Wolfeite, was a youma. He had strength and abilities that Lorne could not hope to possess.
For the first time, a sense of frustration welled in Wolfeite - because Lorne was not backing down.
Where was the fear? Where was the terror in those eyes of his?
It did not make sense.
Wolfeite’s claws latched onto Lorne’s arm, yanking him forward, and without hesitation, his head snapped downwards, teeth sinking into Lorne’s throat.
Posted: Fri Aug 10, 2018 8:31 am
She didn’t know what compelled her to go out, save for the chill down her spine. The tremble in her heart. Somewhere she knew something was going wrong, she just didn’t know what. She had been fidgety all night, waiting for the return text from Lorne, but it never came and she thought perhaps this was a relapse into their prior lifestyles. Except she knew it not to be true. Lorne had tried too hard to keep her, and she as well.
It was silly to base something off the lack of a text but any number of things could happen. He could’ve been attacked, taken. He could’ve been powered and hurt and lying low. Her heart quickened when she felt the disgusting aura of a general and youma mix in the park and knew….She just knew.
When she saw the pair, a snarl mottled the usually calm face of the eternal senshi and she dropped down. The man’s head sunk into Lorne’s neck made her freeze only for a second. Soon enough, Wolfe would feel something taking the back of his head, nails digging in the scalp and using all her senshi strength to rip the man away from Lorne.
There was no words as she threw the general over her shoulder, and once she planted herself in front of her lover, the snarl returned.
“Don’t touch what’s mine.” She held up her hand, pointing to the sky. The words escaping from her mouth. “Aurora Borealis Shield!*” She waited for the shield to deflect the wolf from them before taking the translucent sash off and coming over to Lorne. “Over your neck.” She didn’t focus on the bite mark but her eyes zoomed to it, anger bubbling over in waves. She had never wanted to kill before, but now? The shield would give them enough time for her to firmly plant herself. -------------------------------------
It was honestly the first, and only, time that Lorne had ever done this - stood his ground, not with the kernel of desperation that bubbled violently out of him here and there, followed close behind by regrets and always tagged by sheer raw terror.
At least this time, if nothing else… if this was going to be the end, he thought, at least he had finally stood his ground. Lorne didn’t want to die. That was still true, and it would be a lie to say that terror didn’t grip him, sliding hard and fast into him as if venom from the fangs that pierced his throat. His fingers dug hard into the wolf’s shoulders, trying to push him away with no luck and no purchase.
No, he didn’t want to die. And if he had to, he didn’t want to do it alone. Auguste. Colin. Nadia. But he’d stood his ground. He had not cried. He did not plead. And in that, even as he felt those jaws begin to close and the end draw near, Lorne felt an eerie calm spread over him, unexpected and not unwelcome.
Was this what death was like?
He would never really get that answer as he felt a definite sickening rip, the creature’s head torn away from him, and Lorne didn’t know and didn’t want to know how much of his own blood had mingled with the dripping red of the general’s uniform as Lorne fell hard to his knees. He focused instead on the bright colors of Methone’s fuku, and on whether or not he could breathe - and thankfully, he could.
He did press that sash against his neck, hard, his hand shaking with it - although briefly, his free hand fumbled, grabbing for her’s if only for a fleeting moment of contact.
Lorne didn’t say anything. He was a little afraid to try. But he just - after that, he needed that little moment. For him and for her.
----------------------------
His chest ached. His head was spinning with adrenaline, and with the pulse of blood against his lips, and the heat of it on his tongue, and the way his teeth felt, sinking into skin, and the way Lorne jerked and spasmed against him, because this was it - this was the painful, fearful way in which he wanted to remember Lorne, this frightened creature.
Something blasted against him, bright - an abrupt and sudden sweeping of an Order signature that flared terribly and nauseatingly between him and his prey, and Wolfeite felt himself slammed backwards. His teeth ripped from Lorne’s neck with a snarl of pure fury, and then he was being blasted the side, a surge of color cascading over him.
He hit the ground, skidding, and immediately twisted around onto his haunches, one hand pressed against the ground, the other contorted into claws at his side, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The golden eyes were unfocused, almost manic and blinded with the youma that seized hold of his mind and dug claws in.
Tear.
Rip
Kill them -
He burst upwards with a roar, trying to get to the woman, a howl ripping from his chest, and he was blinded blinded blinded -
I will kill you -
---------------------------------
She didn’t know how long till the shield would go down with the youma’s attacks, but while it held….her attention was on Lorne. The bleeding on his neck was serious and without medical attention, he would lose too much blood to be save. She knew it could only temporarily help but her hand took his and she mustered as much transcendent energy she could in the man. It would help his wound close more, hurt less, but it would not stop the steady flow.
Slow it down, she hoped, in case she had to face the general. She bent down, her arm coming to take Lorne’s over hers.
“Hold tight my love.” She whispered, only for his ears and sent a glare at the wolf. It was followed, by oddly enough, a sickeningly sweet smile. The next time she saw the general, she was going to crush him back to riftspace where his distorted crazy a** belonged.
For now, her focus was Lorne. The Shield crumbling as she used every bit of energy she had left to press the button on her senshi phone, teleporting the two to her planet where Wolfe could not hunt them and it allowed her to choose the next place they would return too.
Her body ached but it was nothing compared to the worry she had for Lorne. “I need to see. I need to see how serious it is Lorne.” She took his hand gently. “If you can talk, make it small and sweet. God, there’s blood. There’s so much. Is there poison.” She could only muster so much more energy to cleanse him if the generals bite was worst in the long run. Even on her planet with it’s calm waters and aurora ribbons. The only thing she had access to here was the first aid kits and med pacs she brought from home.
----------------------
The surge of energy washed over him like a warm bath, and it was only as it slowed that it dawned on Lorne how much his hands had started to shake. Although with the influx of energy on top of everything else, although it definitely helped, it also made him more aware how much his head was spinning.
Lorne nodded once to acknowledge that he had heard her - he regretted the action almost immediately, but he knew it was important to let her know that he was still there, he was still very much present and aware.
Then abruptly the scenery changed, and he wondered if he was really as aware as he’d thought. It felt like a dream to be back here sitting on the beaches of Methone after so long. The lights reflected in his eyes, and despite the situation - he was so happy and relieved to be there.
At first, instinctively, Lorne clutched the scarf tighter before willing himself to ease up on it. His hands felt wet, and he could only hope that was from the fountain (even if he knew it wasn’t - Methone had said it herself); he couldn’t bring himself to look down.
“No poison, “ he rasped out finally, wincing. At least as far as he knew. He wanted to ask how bad it was; he didn’t.
------------------------------
It was hard to portray the sheer fear she felt when she pulled the scarf away and saw nothing but mauled skin and blood. With his confirmation, the senshi relaxed just a little more. She feared that keeping him here any longer without medical attention would kill, or even severely hurt him even more. She tried not to think of the scar it would leave.
Even with her hands covered so, she took his face in them and kissed him so deep, feeding what was left of her transcendent energy she could spare to take as much pain away as she could. The phone popped out again, and she pressed the button for home. She felt drained, sick and worried but it mattered nothing more then getting Lorne to a hospital. Methone’s planet had been a small reprieve to keep the wolf from hunting them again.
Once home, she powered down, helping Lorne as much as she could into the ER. It was easy to tell them he had been attacked by an animal. That’s what the bite marks were after all. They didn’t question him or her any longer then needed and she stayed with the knight until he was patched and better. “You always knew the best way to give me a thrill, didn’t you handsome?” Her hand tucked into his and she smiled sadly at him, “Please. Don’t leave me alone again.”
-------------------
Lorne wouldn’t look down - not that he could have seen it anyway - but he would never forget the look on Methone’s face when she peered under the scarf.
Her hands felt wet and sticky against his face, paler than it should have been, but this did not stop him from kissing her back. And he would owe her later, he thought to himself. Between his lack of communication and now this… whether or not this could have been helped, he would make it up to her. This would be a memory like a bad dream in time.
Before they left, he stole a glance upwards, beholding Saturn through Methone’s eyes. The image would stay with him later.
The ER was about what one would expect. It was a long series of stitches and medicine, tests and prodding, and thankfully very few questions. Even with Methone’s energy bolstering him, it would be a haze later. He would recall whispers, though, voices reflecting how much difference a fraction of an inch or a little more pressure would have made.
In the end, he lay there in a hospital bed, his neck wrapped thickly in bandages and gauze. His arm was bandaged, too - really, anywhere those claws had found purchase. Bruises were already darkening on his pale skin, angry and dark.
Lorne would not be there forever. He was getting some blood to replace what was lost, being observed for a time just in case of anything - but he would be released before long, if under strict orders to rest and under heavy medication to keep the pain at bay.
All things considered though. It could have been much worse, couldn’t it?
He was tired, eyes half-closed, but there was a smile on his face as he squeezed Nadia’s hand in his again. “Never.” His voice still rasped, and he was advised not to overuse it. But at least it was still there.
Then, drifting off, he gave a kind of peculiar little grin, his eyes already closed. “Hit him, you know… right in the…” Lorne trailed off into silence, his hand still tucked in his her’s, a peaceful look on his face.
Quote:
Aurora Borealis Shield* - Sailor Methone calls out her attack and points upward towards the sky and above her head atop her index finger a solar wind erupts in front of her. This wind is far stronger if the opponent is standing directly in front of her and can effectively knock back. The range of this solar wind reaches 10’ in front of her and around her. (360 degrees) Following directly after this abrupt gust of wind a blue-green of light reaches out emulating the Northern lights, and circling around Methone in a mix of light + wind forms a shield. The shield can last up to a minute, unless attacked by various attacks (Three or Four at max). Once inside the shield, no one can leave until the magic runs out or the shield is destroyed.
- Once cast the shield remains stationary, as Methone or anyone inside can move around. - Shield last up to a minute, unless attacked up to four times by attacks. - Shield reaches out to a 10' foot radius around Methone. - Can be cast 2 times
