Koa
You keep telling me to live right
Somehow he makes it through the initial crush with only minor jostling, though every stray elbow and thoughtless push sends needles screaming through his arm. And then a hand is on his back, and a face is peering up at him, and there's words in a lilting, familiar accent that briefly tether him back to the world. Drunk, winded, and mildly concussed, Koa offers nothing but a flat expression at Mateo's breathless concern. There's something too familiar in his friend's face, anyway; the blue eyes hurt too much to look at, forcing the Dragoon to turn away. Even without his intoxication, it's too crowded in here to think.
So he lets the botanist walk beside him like a comically disproportionate bodyguard, following mutely as the older Taliesin leads them out into the warm dark. The relative quiet of the alley is a balm after the boxing ring, where behind them Koa can already hear another challenger stepping up. He doesn't look back; as adrenaline begins to leave his bloodstream a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion kicks in. Without a word Koa finds his back against a building; wincing at the pain in his arm, he slumps down to the curb.
The brick wall scratches bare skin (where's his shirt?) but Koa barely notes it. It's drowned out by the symphony of pain sung cacophonously by his battered body. Now that he's out of the ring and danger, he's able to mentally take stock. A fractured rib, probably, or at least a bruised one; the dislocated arm; a broken nose. Those are the big things, leaving aside the myriad of bruises on his face and torso. All in all, it could be worse.
For the past seven minutes, at least, he hasn't thought about Flora at all.
So he lets the botanist walk beside him like a comically disproportionate bodyguard, following mutely as the older Taliesin leads them out into the warm dark. The relative quiet of the alley is a balm after the boxing ring, where behind them Koa can already hear another challenger stepping up. He doesn't look back; as adrenaline begins to leave his bloodstream a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion kicks in. Without a word Koa finds his back against a building; wincing at the pain in his arm, he slumps down to the curb.
The brick wall scratches bare skin (where's his shirt?) but Koa barely notes it. It's drowned out by the symphony of pain sung cacophonously by his battered body. Now that he's out of the ring and danger, he's able to mentally take stock. A fractured rib, probably, or at least a bruised one; the dislocated arm; a broken nose. Those are the big things, leaving aside the myriad of bruises on his face and torso. All in all, it could be worse.
For the past seven minutes, at least, he hasn't thought about Flora at all.
You don't gotta pretend, baby, now and then
