OOC: Getting his rank changed, but he did get taken prisoner at Cirilla’s challenge <3 AW because bad boys have no right to privacy.
But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume
Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala) |
None
Sometimes he stares at the meager slant of sunlight filtering into the mouth of the den, fantasizing about what lies beyond, about roaming free again. Memories have already begun to flood back; Cirilla, Eric, Uma, and Zelda... turning her back on them. He thinks about them a lot, remembering small snippets of conversation just to take his mind off the pain that feels like it's rotting him from the inside out.
Then, @Eric speaks, his words barely a whisper as they reach his ears. A single ear twitches at the noise, instantly recognizing the voice. Groggily, he makes an herculean attempt to sit up, his face drawn with pain. He squints at Eric through the darkness, not convinced he's not another figment of his imagination. And then he says something endearingly stupid and inappropriate, at which point Ambrose immediately knows he is, in fact, real.
In any other situation, he would have indulged his friend's humor, but today his eyes dart nervously around the desert behind Eric, hoping to find no onlookers. "You know that piebald dirtbag is gonna split you in three different ways once he finds out you're sneaking me food, right?" He manages a faint smile, not surprised he's going to such lengths to take care of him. After all, the Andal lions were specifically ordered not to, and he would've done the same for him. "Is it as bad as it feels?" The eye is likely unsavagable, but it's better to hear it from Eric's mouth than someone else's.
Darkness opens up to reveal him, @Ambrose, a shell of his former self. The features which Eric’d often seen lit with raucous laughter were now darkened by pain and illness.
But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume
Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala) |
The desert they tried to assert ownership of had taken them instead, securing them vengefully within its bowels. The left side of his face is matted with old blood, the ivory fur turned coppery red and coarse. Unrecognizable. Exactly how long as he been in here? The wound must have been infected at some point; his head is still swimming with fever, or whatever that exasperating, persistent pain behind his eyes is.
His pulse is racing knowing @Eric is endangering himself just by helping him. The upper echelon of Andal is about as uptight was he would expect pride lions to be, and he won't be able to forgive himself if his best friend gets hurt.
Still, he's glad he decided to accompany him. He can take a bit of pain, but the isolation is becoming unbearable. This time he laughs weakly, the misery and tension momentarily broken by Eric's well-timed jibe. "Gotta leave some ladies for the rest of you somehow." But his smile doesn't reach his eyes and his voice sounds quiet.
Eric's voice suddenly sounds severe, and his heart briefly lapses into his throat. "Eric. It's okay. I promise. The damage is done." Having been abandoned inside the den for a while now, he's resigned himself to his fate. "At least you're okay, though." He looks the palomino man over, as if to reaffirm the statement. "What's the status on Cirilla and Uma?" What the hell happened?
How quickly had it all changed. How fast had they gone from being two man-children frolicking on a beach, their only enemy a mildly-annoyed crab, to being fragile birds with clipped wings.
But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume
Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala) |
They had been paid back in kind when they turned on the oasis, marked as traitors forever. Not that Ambrose particularly disagrees with the classification. He has no loyalty to the barbarous king and his heavy-handed tactics, and if given half the chance, he would probably be jumping for the chance to tear any of them a new asshole.
But for now, they're all still stuck in the armpit of the desert, surrounded by jittery pride lions. As long as he has his emotional support Eric, he won't go off the deep end. Ambrose has never been one for anger, but isolation, maltreatment, and grievous injury do strange things to the psyche, he's found.
Unsurprisingly, his attempt at humor falls a bit flat, and he can hear the anger in Eric's voice. Even if it's justified, it still surprises him. He's never seen his friend like this before. "Doubt this place is famous for its hospitality." His ears tuck back into his mane and he grunts, the persistent pain behind his eyes deepening.
The palomino's question snares his attention. "Yeah. She's a tough customer, but..." He hesitates. "She's amazing. Even cuter when she's angry. Kinda makes you forget for a second that she could remove your head from your body on a whim." This time, he manages a lazy smile. It makes the savage wound rumple and sends a fresh stab of pain through his skull. "Do you have anyone?" He's never pegged Eric as the settle down type of guy, but surely someone has taken his interest.
The longer Eric can keep his mind off their situation, if even just for a moment, the better.
It’s cold and damp inside the den, while the rain outside adds a layer of privacy to their conversation. Still, it’s a pretty miserable sort of weather, and it leaves Eric feeling kind of blue. The last thing he needed was @Ambrose dying from the common cold!
But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume
Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala) |
"You know I'm gonna hold you to that promise, right?" His ruined eye seems like little more than a distant afterthought as he envisions their great breakaway—could they reclaim their spot on the beach? Eric seems suited to the beach life, even if Ambrose has grown up in the desert. He's willing to compromise. Acres of gold-washed sand, just for the two of them.
"You'd only get so far before big friendly giant finds out and starts calling for our heads again." It's obvious he resents the Andal king, even if they tried to take his desert. Even if Eric does find a medicinal herb and somehow figures out how to apply it, it's too late to save his eye. "It's fine. Can't get by on my looks forever." His mournful little smile suggests there's something he's not telling here, but he doesn't want to sour the mood any more than he already has.
Eric's face changes when he mentions Cirilla, and for a second, he's caught off guard by his severe response. Impress her? He actually laughs this time, and a fresh wave of pain quickly makes him regret the action. No, they just wanted the desert. He's always made a game of trying to impress ladies, but there's a time and a place. And he likes to think they're far past the impressing stage. "You mean...?" He eyes Eric again, dubiously. What is he trying to say, here?
Eric surely has more mileage on him than Ambrose does, so maybe there's some credibility to the notion. Or maybe that's just delirium finally taking hold of Ambrose's brain. "Are you gonna give me an old man's lecture on how real love doesn't exist?"
“You better,” Eric smiles lopsidedly, “if not, I’ll owe you a drink.” He makes that promise, that vow, with every intention of keeping it. Even though, in the back of his mind, the day of their escape seems just as far to him as it does to Ambrose, a mere pipe dream.
But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume
Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala) |
The thought is sobering. He always did favor his looks—is the damage bad enough for his appearance to inspire fear? As a stabbing pain lacerates the same, repetitive spot behind his eyes again, it feels like it is. The pain comes in waves, sporadic but consistent at the same time.
Ambrose laughs, and for the first time, Eric doesn't.
He quickly falls into a perplexed silence, sensing the palomino man is being stone cold sober. The vestiges of the heartbreak still seem to tug at him, weighing him down. Ambrose can almost see the scene play out in Eric's electric blue eyes, and he almost wants to reach out, comfort him somehow. It's the pain he's been hiding behind wisecracks and contagious laughter, spidering out between the cracks.
Ambrose loves the palomino like he loves his own twin sister—but his reaction is insecure and impulsive. "Are you telling me I'm not good enough somehow?" He drags his tail defensively around his haunches. "You don't even know her! She's not gonna roll around with the first guy she sees." He scoffs derisively, but it's not convincing. Why isn't she here yet? A pause. "Right?" Eric doesn't seem to have much faith in Cirilla... it's a side of him he doesn't yet know. Who planted the seed of mistrust in his brain? "Why are you telling me all this, anyway?" A beat, before he jumps to an absurd conclusion. "Wait, are you jealous?"