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. You know, being the non-VIP prisoner has its advantages! While the wonder twins couldn’t even go take a tinkle without being watched, Eric could come and go as he pleased. Well, within the pride borders at least. And he might get the stink-eye if he got too far. Rain dampened the sand of the oasis, turning golden paradise to drab and dreary prison. Eric picked his way through the rocky outcroppings, although it felt like walking on a slip and slide. He almost fell on his ass a few times. And to make things worse, he was carrying a desert hare by the ears and swaying like an amateur tightrope walker. He stopped at the entrance of the den, that in which he guessed they were keeping @Ambrose. Pressing his nose against the ground, Eric picked up the scent of blood and anguish, and, of course, his best friend. A boulder fell into his stomach. “Hey,” he called, his prey muffling the noise, before he placed it gingerly at his feet. Eric stood there like a nervous corsage-holding teenager waiting for his date to prom. “I brought you something.” He nudged the hare forward with his nose, letting it sit before that cavernous mouth. An offering to a downtrodden god. He sighed. “Look, I bet it’s not as bad as you think it is. Some chicks really dig the pirate look!” But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

The morning dawns dismal and cold, but the ivory lion doesn't rise with it. Delirium chases him in and out consciousness; a result of shock, no doubt, as his grave injuries go untreated. During the brief moments he wakes, a staggering pain seizes his skull, so persistent and agonizing that he feels like he's losing his mind. So he sleeps in the cold cavern—dead to the world.

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.

BG — ART — CODE

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. A tremulous smile stretched on the palomino lion’s face, as he tried with all his might not to let his friend realize what he was feeling. Anguish. Rage. Fear. All those things that come with caring for someone. And Eric hadn’t cared about anyone or anything for a long, long time. He attempted an aloof gesture, waving the words away with his paw. “Nah,” the former vampire/viking was convinced that he had them all fooled and under his toe-beaned thumb (do lions have thumbs?), “They haven’t even noticed I left! I’m like a ninja." Narrator (Off Screen): Everyone had noticed Eric left. He was nothing like a ninja. Now that it was clear that it was Ambrose, and that he was awake, Eric padded into the den, leaving a trail of wet pawprints on the stone behind him. The first thing that hit him was the stench, a wave of blood and puss that assaulted his nostrils and nearly flipped his stomach. Next was the rage, the bubbling, searing rage at the felines who held them captive. How could they have left him like this? Were their hearts made of stone? And this is coming from someone who used to think of people as juice packs. “Well…” Eric stared at the disfigured face of his friend, “just be thankful it’s the inside that counts.” He laughs, but it doesn’t seem genuine. The palomino man steps closer to try and sniff at the wounds. He was no healer, but he’d gotten into his fair share of scuffles and seen a good bit of blood. “You need help.” That was the first time that Eric Björklund acted like his age. “Do you know of any herbs that don’t make you high?” Aaaand, perhaps the last time. But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

He knew their hostile takeover was in danger of backfiring when that dappled bastard exploded onto the scene, all but wrenching him away from his initial target. He doesn't remember much after that—just that he woke up inside of this dingy den, drifting in and out of a bottomless sleep.

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?

BG — ART — CODE

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. Eric was angry. Initially. Who wouldn’t be? You think you’re about to move in with someone and suddenly you get flung into the middle of a coup! That’s not the fun, braiding-each-other’s-mane kind of sleepover he was expecting. There was a terrible lack of snacks. But as the days had passed, and @Ambrose had not emerged, as not a word of sympathy was uttered…Eric’s anger was slowly whittled down to worry. Worry for himself. Worry for Ambrose. Even for Uma, who before this he probably thought could’ve survived an elephant stampede. Eric simply couldn’t shake this pit in his stomach, this quickening in his heart every time somebody semi-important looking came near. Were they freed? Were they doomed? What was going to happen to them? Eric’s attempts at lightening the mood don’t help. The quip he receives from his friend is a solid effort, but there’s little heart behind it. The palomino lion can’t blame him. Surely, if their situations were switched, Eric’s dramatic whining performance would be legendary. “Well, how considerate of you,” back, but is left feeling quite like a deflated balloon. Not that he’s gassy or anything. “Yeah, but that doesn’t give them any right to keep you like this,” he says, half-mournful, half-outraged. Eric’s ears perk up at the sudden name. A name he doesn’t recognize. Cirilla. Had Ambrose mentioned it before, in passing? “Uma’s somewhere around here. I don’t know exactly where or how she is but…” Eric shrugs boyishly “I’m honestly more worried for her caretakers than anyone else.” What? He can’t help it! HUMOR IS HIS COPING MECHANISM. The pale lion licked his lips. “And I haven’t seen or heard about a Cirilla anywhere.” He fixed his gaze on a splotch of blood on the ground. What if she was dead? “Is she…someone special?” Come now, don't be jealous! But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

The dank innards of the den seem a bit less dark and unpleasant now that @Eric has joined him, but something still doesn't sit right with him. He had seen Uma not far from him before everything went sideways, but hasn't seen hide nor hair of her since. They're still a lion down, and her absence weighs heavy on his mind.

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.

BG — ART — CODE

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! Unlike Ambrose, Eric is no stranger to anger. To rage. What can I say? He’s a passionate guy. His emotions are like a 360°, all-directions swing. The way he can switch from fine to pissed is sure to give you whiplash. And he was pissed, ‘cause we all know that anger’s just a masking emotion. And Eric had a lot of fear to mask. “Well then, maybe we should get our own place.” He’s determined, serious even. “Far away from these people.” That way nobody can hurt you again. Ambrose emits a noise of pain, and Eric quickly presses closer like a terrified mother chicken. “Whoa there, tough guy. Are you sure you don’t want me to get you something?” He was NOT against selling his body for some medicinal herbs. Baby Ambrose was worth his maidenhood. Listen, I told you this guy was passionate. Eric takes his one shitty experience with prides and quickly crosses off the possibility of ever joining another. It’s unfair maybe, but it’s the last bit of power he holds at the moment, the last bit of control. Ambrose speaks about her, his lady love, in that dreamy little way young men always do. Maybe Eric even spoke that way once. But his face is dark, cynical almost now. “Is that why you did all this? To impress her or something?” He wanted to go on a tangent, he wanted to give this whole speech about how he was better than that and he didn’t have to prove anything. He wanted to tell him that love can’t be earned…no matter how much you want it be. But, almost as if he could read his thoughts, Ambrose asks him the question. Eric’s ears fall back slightly, as he avoids the patchy boy’s gaze. “I don’t,” he admits, the sound echoing darkly throughout the den, “there was someone, a very long time ago, but she never felt the same.” That wasn’t her fault. That didn’t make her a bad person. “I also thought I could make her love me.” Eric meets Ambrose’s eyes now. He doesn’t want to hurt him, but it’s best he learn this lesson early. “But you can’t, Ams.” So that he doesn’t end up like him. But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

Far away from these people. Inside the unpleasant den where he has been left to his own devices for longer than he can remember, it sounds like a pipe dream, but it's a nice thought nonetheless. It's something to hold onto as the the days grow endless, coalescing together into a nightmarish haze.

"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?"

BG — ART — CODE

“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. He breathes out quickly through his teeth. “After all this…maybe twelve.” @Ambrose refuses the help and, as much as it pains him, Eric pulls away, nodding. The lion before him was no longer the yearling who’d found him in sad, drunken stupor. It was up to him to put himself back together. The only thing Eric could do was help him pick up the pieces. Maybe hold the tissue box if needed. The boy laughs at his sage wisdom. Hell, he probably would’ve laughed at it too, once upon a time. There’s nothing like being in love to make you feel like the king of the world, untouchable, unkillable. But it also comes with a big helping of stupid, and that’s what Eric remembers the most. How stupid he felt looking at Elena’s face as she ever so gently tried to tell him: you mean nothing to me. While you were dreaming of me, pondering about the color of my eyes and how it was probably your favorite color in the entire world…I didn’t even remember you existed. Did you know that she hadn’t even remembered his name? “No,” Eric clicks his tongue, “I know it exists. I’ve felt it. I’ve mourned it.” Just because they were unrequited, it didn’t mean his feelings weren’t real. “But it’s not worth it. It’s messy and it’s pointless.” He swallows, looking away cause he can’t help but feel like he’s almost talking to himself. His younger self. “What is she falls for someone else? Huh? What if right now, we’re in prison because you decided to think with your wrong head and Cirilla, goddess on earth, is out there canoodling with somebody else?” After all, Elena had. But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume Art by Swan, Code by Swan (fixed by Cala)

He doesn't want Eric to worry about him—he's already putting his own safety on the line by leaving his own makeshift prison to visit him. Ambrose has resigned himself to losing his sight: he's no medic, but he knows his eye is long beyond repair. He has no way to know the extent of the damage inflicted on his face, but Eric did seem pretty taken aback when he saw him. If he ever does leave this place... will anyone even recognize him?

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?"

BG — ART — CODE