Hate Me

A large frown was on Lykos’ face when he stumbled across a familiar scent - one that should not have been within the borders of Ivalice. Mercy. He felt conflicted then; should he be angry? She was trespassing. At the same time, the respect he had for her told him that no, he shouldn’t. Bt another part of him didn’t care about that - she invaded, broke the laws, and that was not okay. No matter what. He growled quietly as he stood there, before shaking himself and heading towards where the scent came from - from outside the borders, of course. How she’d managed to get this far without anyone noticing was absolutely beyond him, and it troubled him that she did it at all. Why? Why did she trespass? That just causes issues, and Lykos didn’t understand one bit.

It was when his mother’s scent suddenly intertwined with Mercy’s that he began to truly worry. He couldn’t see the border, not yet; he was still pretty far out… but it was clear that earlier his mother was doing the exact same thing - tracking Mercy. Was Mercy alright? It didn’t even occur to him that his mother might not be; he just expected her to be fine.

Before he could investigate, a strong, almost angry call sounded for him - and only him. His eyes narrowed in the direction of the call. What the hell was going on? Why was he being called? And why that tone of voice? He was absolutely confused, uncertain, and a little whisper of fear struck him. Not only that, but it was coming from the meeting place as well.

He turned away from the scent trail, eying it, and wishing he could get closer to the border, see what happened, but he was not wanting to risk the wrath of Avalon for that… and he wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to know what happened. Though, he might find out anyways, depending on what the hell Avalon was calling him for. Shaking his head again, he headed off towards her.

When he arrived, he immediately knew something was wrong - physically, and mentally. The smell of blood saturated the air, and his steps grew more hurried until he broke through the undergrowth, and caught sight of Avalon’s face. The blankness, the stone look on her face was an immediate sign - unlike him, she didn’t normally keep such an expression; the fact she was meant she was hiding something, and it was either anger or sorrow. He figured anger; had it been something sorrowful, it likely wouldn’t be so soon after him finding Mercy’s scent and certainly not that tone in her voice when she called.

That was brushed away quickly when he saw Avalon’s shoulder, ripped, bleeding, mangled. It would scar badly, he knew, just from looking at it, and he knew Avalon needed to see a healer. Even if it was Vereux. “Your shoulder.” He started, part of the typical facade he kept up slipping and showing the worry that flashed underneath. He didn’t ask what happened - he didn’t want to know that answer one bit. Instead, he focused on other things. What should he do? Moss of some sort, maybe? To stop the bleeding? He scanned the trees then, looking for some sort of moss; the wound was still bleeding and had to be taken care of. Arrgh, where was moss? And why the hell had his mother called him before getting herself taken care of?

"Speech" | Think