Stupid.

With concentration and determination alike, the Cadet wholeheartedly puts herself into the fight. Unfortunately for her, the felinae pitted against her was quite the slippery foe. Her sword failed to hit its mark when it mattered most and many of the shards of ice she sent forth were evaded. More than skilled at combat, her foe appeared to be something of an expert. The waves of water kept her at bay and, before she knew it, everything was over.

Asphira had been reckless and acted off of childish anger which wasn't something she herself realized until it was too late. She wasn't particularly prideful, yet she still hadn't been able to calmly handle watching the one she assumed to be the very best within her city at her chosen magic lose- not after looking up to him for as long as she had and aspiring to reach his level herself some day. He had come out unharmed, but her? No such luck.

A pained groan escapes her lips when her head is roughly grabbedand she winces. Having sustained what damage she had already, the young woman was dazed and unable to push her away. What comes next is a vaguely familiar, unsettling sensation in her head following by a sound that might make some of even the most hardened soldiers flinch.

With it came a scream. A horrible, agonizing scream.

Asphira staggers away from Yuri and presses a palm against her severely damaged eye as her voice dies down. The pain combined with the shock of it manage to bring her down to her knees, shuddering and whining. Pitiful, truly. She curls forward and blood slides through her fingertips to drip to the floor steadily.

In the end, nothing had changed- she was still leagues weaker than Khaine and she'd failed to prove her worth yet again. Asphira could hardly believe how naïve she'd been.
(Asphira)

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[03:47] For a while Yuri'd just be silent, frozen even as adrenaline continued pumping through her chest nonstop as she'd stare at the blood in her hand that was dripping down to the floor. Where'd she go wrong? It worked so well for her magics already mastered; to forcefully take control and manipulate... So why didn't it work with blood?

She knew it was a risky and insane move to attempt in the midst of a fight without any prior experience in the slightest, but every time she'd punch or kick someone she could feel something inside that could be taken a hold of, and in a moment like that she felt it perfect to try.

There was no major thought about Asphira's scream or injury but some pity, as it was them who requested the fight and it was them who wished to take on the Ookami in this fashion despite their request not to. The outcome was up to fate, and this was how it turned out.

But those thoughts only lasted so long. Once she heard the angry roar of the Commander of the watch, she'd practically jump in a sudden scare before looking up from her palm to stare in his direction, a frown appearing on her face as she'd listen on.

Protect and serve the citizens? This was a duel with both of them risking grevious wounds. One wrong dodge from Yuri and that Rapier could've easily have removed an arm or a leg. One wrong step and it would leave them impaled.

But now wasn't the time to say anything, instead she'd just silently acknowledge his words and head towards the exit trying to regain focus on thoughts of what went wrong while the feeling was still fresh in her mind and body.

Though.... Not without a few words to Asphira as she'd walk past them.

"You made me use all my magic. Good job, and sorry it ended this way."

Perhaps not the best of words given the moment, but in her mind? It was agood compliment. She had held back against Khaine, having found no point in giving a fight against that Ice Magi her all at the time.
(Yuri Dojin)

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[03:51] Jericho's gaze lingers on the scene for far too long. It was his mindset that those who could win, should, and that the stronger should establish their will, sure.

But Asphira was different. Asphira was his friend.

Watching as the battle raged across the stage, he sees the difficulty Asphira's having getting her blows to make contact, with the felinae evading - but he also noticed something else.

Nobody here would've moved to fight, even though they'll talk.

He breathes in a deep sigh, but says nothing. It was just his way. It was how Kirai had raised him. It was how they did things where he was from. Running up, running in, intervening in an honor duel? That just wasn't his style.

But damn it felt bad.
(Jericho)

It hurt. It wasn't the first time her eyes had been targeted, yet the pain from it was undeniably even worse than it had been on the last occasion. There was no mistaking that.

No matter how tightly she pressed her palm against her eye, she couldn't stop it from profusely bleeding. Her sole remaining eye moves to the strange individual who'd approach her and she turns herself away as they attempt to pry her hand back to see her injury properly.

"N-no..." Asphira didn't want them to look at it, naturally. She was in pain and ashamed of it. Confused, hurt, and stunned.

She rises to her feet shakily as Yuri passes and grits her teeth. Rather than wait for help to come, the Cadet began to walk out from the building on her own. The words of the onlookers had reached her well enough.
(Asphira)
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[04:06] Jericho isn't far behind her. Regardless of what the result had been, when the lights were off and the crowd had dispersed, he would still be here for her, and he shows that, now, by trailing only just behind. The boy's hand runs through his hair as he gazes skyward, remembering when he'd been in his own family dojo....

When he'd been in his own family dojo and been on the ground, all eyes on him, as the crowd roared, before he hit the ground. The disappointment in Kirai's eyes, as he then turned away, focusing on the more talented acolytes of the dojo.

Fighting for the love of the only father he'd ever know.

But this wasn't then. It was now. And he wasn't the one hurt...she was. His steps are heavy, measured, thundering against the wood panel, and before he knew it, his apathetic demeanor had dropped, and a stride had turned from a jog into a dash.
(Jericho)
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[04:39] Rummaging through the manor with the utmost haste, Jericho moves faster than she'd likely ever seen him move. Barreling things off of shelves, tearing through things, he eventually finds the medical supplies Cicero keeps in stock, and guides Asphira back into his room.

He seats her within a chair, and then sits in the one directly across from her.

Was this even going to work?

Jericho's never tried this in his life, but he's the picture of confidence, of indifference the bulk of the time. It's the air that he gives off to everyone he knows - it's the fragment of the assassin's code he clings to the most. But if Asphira's watching, carefully, his hands are shaking.

There's so much damn blood...

"I...move your hand," he asks, right away, holding up the supplies.
(Jericho)
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[04:47] The longer she went like this, the worse Asphira felt. Of course she was in no real danger but the pain was very much real. She slumps in the chair after being guided to it and patiently waited for Jericho to find what he needed to.

"It's embarrassing... I'm sorry I lost, Jericho. I thought I could do it."

She didn't notice his shaking in her current state. For the blonde's sake, Asphira removes her hand to let him do whatever he needed to to help.
(Asphira)
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[04:59] "You're a damn idiot."

His voice lacks that condescension, the disparaging negativity. It's filled with distress. As he so rarely, so infrequently does, Jericho lets crumble that façade of total apathy, that crucial mask of detachment that protected him from the painful truths of the world. She'd be able to hear the conviction in his voice, the determination, the will...

The boy doesn't know how, but he's going to help.

You can't trust anyone, Jericho. Not even I.

His hands grow steadily more and more shaky as she moves her hand away, revealing where the blood slithers freely from the damn-near ruined eye.

The supplies fall to the ground.

Jericho is overcome with the kind of righteous indignance that he'd never permit himself to feel. That he'd locked away all of this time. The very same burning need that had festered, simmering inside of the pit of his soul. His hands begin to pulsate that same white that had permeated his aura for months, going on years now...

And then Asphira'd feel it.

Like a radiator, he emits heat, but not an uncomfortable amount. This heat slid into your soul and warmed it on a winter's night. But it wasn't invasive. This was what boiled within the human heart and had been affixed many names, romanticized across the eons - this was a drive to protect. This was selflessness. Nothing is on his mind but helping her.

From his palms emit waves of holy light that wash over the injury in an instant, stemming the flow of blood. He pours everything he can into her until he was damned empty, all of that repressed, obsessive, manic need to see her uninjured, and when he had nothing left, he kept giving.

He cannot heal her eye. He cannot undo the damage. But this is what he can do.

The flow of blood stops. No longer does she bleed. And the pain...the pain is gone in an instant, replaced with something that can only be described if you've only known an embrace in the arms of someone who cares deeply for you. If you do not know that sensation, it can no better be explained to you than color to the blind.

The color has drained from Jericho's face. He trembles, having overtaxed himself, but Asphira no longer bleeds, and she no longer hurts.

It isn't good enough, but it was the best he can do.

"Just...shut up...idiot," he says to her, stricken with compassion. Compassion and care that he'd always felt, for her, for all of his friends, that he'd bottled up his entire life. "We'll get your eye fixed...I promise, okay? But atleast now..."

He doesn't know what he did. He cannot say.

"Why do you have to be so stupid?"
(Jericho)



The blood is stopped. The rush is over - he'd done it. He'd delayed her need for medical treatment, even if it had taxed him to the extent that his arms felt like lead. Such a thing was, as minor as it was, to be cherished. To be prized. To be celebrated. Because, as insignificant as it was...

He'd been able to help someone that'd wanted only to help others her entire life.

"I came from the wild. Dunno how I got there. Don't know if I ever will. Got a few ideas, but you know, it don't really matter. Nothing does but what happened, how you got hit, and how you roll with it. And I fucking rolled with it. I say the boars raised me, but I raised myself. I learned what I could and couldn't eat, I scrapped the animals with my bare hands. I didn't even see people most o' that time - and if I did, I just ran.

And then I met him."

Jericho carefully dabs at the blood that'd already flowed with swabs, cleaning everything. She'd have to change the armor and all, but now wasn't the tactless moment to suggest she strip her clothes, or something. Never that.

Even now, when Jericho closes his eyes, he can see clearly the silhouette of his father, long-haired and proud, the shadows distorting around his form.

"From civilization, from society, and yet he conquered all in his path, like the greatest boar. His fists struck down his enemies, and he moved like a figment of your imagination. I swore sometimes I imagined him, those first few days I followed him out...then he brought me back to the dojo, and introduced me to the kids I was supposed to call my family."

He had waited until her story concluded, and now, he told her his, as he's told no one else. Not Lion. Not Akira. Not Cal. And certainly not Cicero.

"I fought for his love. Stood on my two legs and fought like he fought. Threw myself at my betters. Listened to his every lesson - he taught this thing, the assassin's code, and I ate that shit up. I wanted to be better than him. I wanted to beat him. I wanted to beat my family. I wanted to be the best, like I was kicking the crap out of boars. He made me mad, but I wanted to be just like him. I wanted to beat him, but I thought he was unbeatable. I ran from him, but I loved him."

There's silence. Asphira knows how this story ends.

"In the end, he died...and you know, he even told me, all things die. But I never thought he could lose. In my head, he didn't. There's some excuse, some factor that didn't make it a fair fight. Maybe even he succumbed to the pressure. I don't know."

That holy light that thrummed in his palms had dwindled to nothing, but that light burned bright within him, always a part. He feels it, acknowledges it as an afterthought...

"But what I learned later, from all of my friends, and the roads they're walkin', and watching the syndicates, and the knights, and people, and even going back to the wild and throwing off my clothes and pretending to be able to go back to who I was before...I learned...from Cicero, from Cal, from Akira, from Yami, from Lion, from you..."

Eyes usually blue seemed specked golden, but maybe it was just a trick of the sun.

"Everyone loses. Me, you, Sir Khaine. But the only walls that exist are those we've placed in our minds. And whatever obstacles you conceive, exist only because you've forgot what you already achieved. Tonight, you fought for what you believed in, when everyone else sat on the sidelines..."

His arms wrap around her. He holds her tight.

"So keep bein' your own hero, and never let yourself down."
(Jericho)

You have 7 minutes left until your next check. You currently do not qualify for an RPP reward in the upcoming check.

Asphira hadn't expected anyone to understand her actions. She was sure many people would laugh at her and several others would mark it off as sheer stupidity and rashness. When she spoke it aloud, it sounded irrational even to her.

But she knew her feelings at the time had been genuine. They hadn't come from nowhere nor did she think them to be meaningless.

Her left eye remains shut while Jericho cleans up the surrounding area and she listens to his tale in silence. No matter who she explained her story to after this point, Asphira had a feeling that nobody would understand better than him. It was a shared experience between them that nobody could take away.

"It's hard to accept someone you look up to being just as human as the rest of us, huh? When he lost, he didn't even look concerned about it. I wondered why I was so frustrated while he himself was perfectly calm," she mumbles.

"I thought him losing had to have been some accident and I didn't want people thinking he was weak. That's why I fought, Jericho. But..."

When he moves to hug her, the gesture is returned and she smiles, content. He had gotten rid of her pain and helped dispel her doubt which was something she couldn't help but be grateful for.

"Perhaps your right. I should try looking up to myself a little more rather than others, huh? Even though I got hurt, I don't regret confirming things for myself rather than hesitating and regretting it. I just need to get stronger and become more reliable."
(Asphira)


Asphira displays their Seeker Badge

You have gone AFK.

You are no longer AFK.

"I'll help you," he says in the face of all she'd said, the natural thing to say, the immediate thing to say, the first thing he thinks or anyone would think to say, and how confident it sounds is surprising, even to him. Asphira is held tightly to him, and he rocks her back and forth... "...I'll always help you."

There's something about these conversations they have, however sparse they may be. However rare it is that he gets to spend time with this woman, who he's known so long, they'd ultimately always wound up bonding on such an intimate level in those sparse occasions. And that was what made her one of his most cherished friends - not the frequency, but the quality of those interactions.

Whilst others swarmed her and the other women of Osrona, as the great gauntlet was ran to charm the shoes off of these lasses and ladies, Jericho, as he did with everything else, just kicked back and let the dice fall.

Whatever happens, happens.

He himself had deified a criminal, convict, and unquestionable psychopath. He'd thought a man like that infallible, believed he'd known everything, could do anything. He loved that man. He loved that man with all of his heart, all of his capacity. There was a lot of damage underlying in Jericho, but ultimately...he was just someone who gave a damn.

And he always would be.

The light that ebbs throughout his body, that which sought to guard all which he held dear, was unquestionable proof of that - if one were to take a magnifying glass to Jericho's soul, dig through the layers upon layers of conditioning and possibility, what they'd find at it's core is this need.

This need to keep everyone important to him safe.

Even if he didn't always say it.

Perhaps Jericho is insignificant. He is no cadet, he is no noble, he isn't even a slum boy, a knight, or a member of the city watch. He does not clamor for typical accolades or trophies or prizes, and for that reason, he does not make sense to most. What he cherishes, what is important to him...is different from what is important to others:

For millions of years flowers have been producing thorns. For millions of years sheep have been eating them all the same. And it's not serious, trying to understand why flowers go to such trouble to produce thorns that are good for nothing? It's not important, the war between the sheep and the flowers? It's no more serious and more important than the numbers that fat red gentleman is adding up? Suppose I happen to know a unique flower, one that exists nowhere in the world except on my planet, one that a little sheep can wipe out in a single bite one morning, just like that, without even realizing what he'd doing - that isn't important? If someone loves a flower of which just one example exists among all the millions and millions of stars, that's enough to make him happy when he looks at the stars. He tells himself 'My flower's up there somewhere...' But if the sheep eats the flower, then for him it's as if, suddenly, all the stars went out.

And that isn't important?