#firechaser

lily, raising a brow: hm? what was that, babe?

marlene, quickly looking away and murmuring: fuck.

lily & mary from wyidias

Izan wakes to the blaring of his alarm, blindly slapping his hand in the direction of the sound before his brain has fully awoken. As he manages to turn it off, he begins to return to his body from the dream state he was in.

This, as it turns out, was a mistake.

The cold November air has crept through the poorly insulated walls of his room here at the Wolf Hall Inn and settled into his bones. He can feel the cold climbing it's way up the pandoric scars lacing his body and slipping inside his bones in much the same way the crystals themselves have done. He groans, huddling back under the scratchy wool blanket in hopes that it will do something for him, but unfortunately the second alarm he has set goes off and reminds him of the time. With great irritation he rolls over to turn off the alarm and looks at his phone. Luckily he's not running late yet, but it is still too early for a man who has spent most of his life avoiding the waking hours of normal people. He scowls at the little numbers taunting him with the text "7:00", looking far to cheery for such a dismal morning, but his gaze softens when his view falls upon the lock screen image. It's a new photo of Mango, reaching up to grab an apple from a tree, her big mule ears so far forward in excitement they're getting leaves in them. He sighs, knowing he can't bail on her, and goes to sit up in bed.

This is his second mistake. The cold hits even more strongly with the blanket no longer insulating him and it brings with it a bone-deep ache. He tenses his fists and jaw, nails digging into his palms and breathing slowly. The pain is overwhelming at first and he feels tears well up in his eyes, which he hates but at least there isn't anyone to witness his weakness. After some time spent in this haze of pain he remembers the painkillers he has set on the bedside dresser for just this occasion and reaches out to grab them, one hand still balled in the sheets. He must have drank the cup of water at his bedside overnight, so he forces himself to swallow the pills dry. Unfortunately, he knows he hasn't left himself enough time this morning to let them kick in so, with a deep breath to steady himself, he throws the blankets off and swings his legs off the side of the bed.

Standing up is a whole different issue, however. As he slides his feet to the ground he is grateful for the carpet under his feet, rough as it may be, for its insulation from the frigid floor. Once he moves his weight to his feet he is even more grateful as he feels his right leg give out from under him and send him gracelessly tumbling half onto the bed and half to the floor. He swears under his breath as he pulls himself back to sitting on the bed, feeling the cold crawl even more aggressively up his legs now that they aren't covered by a blanket.  He bites his lip, every muscle in his body tensed in pain. Squeezing his eyes closed, he shoves himself to a standing position, managing to stay upright long enough to grab the edge of the dresser. Leaning his weight into it, he pulls some clothing out and throws them onto the bed before he does the same with himself. He takes a moment to compose himself again, breathing deeply and prying his teeth from his lower lip. They return to the worn indents once he tries to get clothed a minute later though, rolling onto his side to pull off his sweatpants and pull on the jeans he grabbed. Every bend of his stiff, crystalline joints sends another jolt echoing up his bones like they're a hollow metal pipe someone's just hit with a hammer. He glares down at the glowing pink scars that trace along his veins, then, more slowly this time, bends his knees to peel the sweats off. As he carefully slides the cold, stiff jeans back up his legs, he thanks whichever god seems to have taken pity on him that the pandoric scars haven't extended to his hands yet, particularly when he needs to take a break to grip the bed sheets with all his might to counteract the throbbing in his leg.

Having made it past the worst part of getting dressed, he sits back up and sadly swaps his sleep-warm hoodie for a long-sleeved shirt. His warm woollen socks are next, much appreciated by his cold feet that cant do much to insulate against the wintry air themselves. He then reaches for the neck gaiter, slides it over his head and pulls it up, hiding the scars that crawl up his jugular and over his lower face from view. Finally he is ready to face the world, and a quick glance at his phone shows that it is just in time as he is now behind schedule by several minutes. Luckily the painkillers have begun to kick in, dulling all his senses along with the aches and making his brain feel like it's in a ball of cotton. He hates the sensation, but the pain is worse so he shrugs it off and quickly goes to put on and lace his boots. He grabs the coat he keeps by the door, and shoves his phone in the pocket before rushing out the door.

Here he is met with another challenge, the stairs. His room is up a flight of rickety wooden stairs on the outside of the building that snow has drifted to cover overnight and climbing down them looks like hell right now, but asking for help from someone else would reveal his weakness and he can't allow that for himself. Izan grits his teeth again and then grabs the hand bar, turning to the side as he gingerly bends his leg and lowers it to the next step. The painkillers try their best to overpower the sensation but this just leaves him with the odd duelling sense of the heat within his legs versus the cold snow outside them. His leg seems to be holding up fine so he brings the other one down to join it on the step. Slowly, bit by bit, he makes his way down the staircase, ignoring the way the snow has begun to melt into the cuffs of his jeans in favour of getting to solid ground again before his legs give out. He manages, and though the shakiness in them don't fill him with confidence, he trudges on with no time to take a break. The bus he takes to New Hillcrest during the week doesn't run on Sundays so he makes his way on foot along the past the abandoned farm, grateful that at least the road has been cleared. He would beg for a ride were anyone to pass him in a vehicle, but there's slim chance of that anywhere in Jorvik, as he has discovered the longer he lives here. He grumbles to himself about the winding nature of the country road before deciding to take the shortcut across the field, unwilling to add more time to his walk no matter how iffy the ground is. He nearly makes it across without incident, but just as he passes one of the manicured trees he slips on a hidden patch of ice and eats shit, hitting the ground hard enough to wind himself. As he lays gasping on the ground like a dying fish, he notices a shadow cast itself over him.

Following it to its source he makes eye contact with the annoyingly amused face of Blake. The man stares at him for a moment longer, then silently extends a hand and as much as Izan would like to rebuke him, he figures falling again in his attempts to get back up wouldn't help his image and so sits up and grabs his hand. Frustratingly, the other man is significantly stronger than he is despite their similar sizes, and has no trouble pulling him up onto his feet on the pavement. Izan can't stop the groan of pain that he lets out, but mercifully Blake seems to ignore it, instead pulling his journal out of one of his many pockets. While he writes something Izan takes a moment to check his own pockets to ensure his phone is still there and then greet the horses Blake has with him. He, as always, has his giant dopey black stallion by his side, and Chase seems to be taking advantage of the quiet morning to let his flames out without anyone seeing them. Tethered to Chase is one of the client's horses, a grey Lippizaner gelding, and though Izan can't quite remember the name of the horse's owner he is fairly sure the horse itself is called Pluto. Izan politely scratches both horses, and then attempts to stay standing as Chase takes this as an invitation to rub his whole head against him. Once he has fended off the itchy stallion he turns back to look at Blake, but not without moving to stand near the pleasantly warm flames bursting from Chase. The heat soothes the pain in his back, both from the crystalline scars and from the bruise that was surely blooming after his fall. Blake finally turns his notebook around, his irritating cursive-like scrawl reading "Figured I'd find you out here. You're late, I already brought Mango in from the field for you. Come on, ride Chase so we can get back quickly."

He doesn't wait for a response once Izan looks up from the journal, grabbing a spare helmet from the back of Chase's saddle and shoving it into his hands. Normally, Izan would argue, just out of principle from being told what to do, but he has no energy to spare this morning and so he just mumbles, "Thanks" and jams it on his head. Luckily he didn't have time to put his hair up in its usual bun this morning and so doesn't need to undo it. The issue he finds instead is when he turns to Chase. The stallion has never looked taller, all 18 hands of height towering over him and looking less than fun to climb on top of. He refuses to say anything about it to Blake, but it seems the man is watching him anyway as he pokes Chase in a spot behind the girth and prompts the stallion to lay down.

"I could have mounted on my own!" He says, offended by the accurate assessment of his ability. Blake just rolls his eyes, already atop of Pluto, and so Izan hurries to get on so as to not be far behind. He nearly melts once he is astride of Chase, the soothing heat of his flames and overall ambient warmth helping far more than the painkillers did, although the relaxation does mean he nearly falls off as the stallion suddenly stands up. He does recover, and quickly prompts the stallion into a fast walk, easily catching up to Blake and Pluto. Normally he would be trying to persuade the man to share more of the information on this island that he surely knows but wont share, but with how tired he is and the way the painkillers fog up his brain he's happy to enjoy the quiet that riding with Blake provides.