1758/Running Only On Dignity

Running Only On Dignity
Date of Scene:	13 July 2024
Location:	Mitakihara Ward
Synopsis:	(Set just after Black Roses.) Dark Endymion's last strike left Zoisite in a ... less than enviable position. Specifically,
Cast of Characters:	Kazuo Saitou, Zoisite
Tinyplot:	Dark Kingdom Finale

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Kazuo Saitou has posed:
The barrier lasts a little bit longer than it might have, since Chrono announced that they weren't letting it down till everyone was found. That means that there is still smoke and ash, charred brambles, debris from broken buildings that will be unbroken when they return to the normal world.

That means that there is careful shifting of debris, as Kunzite tracks Endymion's last attack to the broken building it's in line with. Very careful. Helping Zoisite in his undoubted attempt to claw himself from the debris: good. Inflicting any additional bruises or worse in trying to give that help: exceedingly bad, especially with the just-rescued Mamoru an exhausted wreck.

Zoisite has posed:
Let's start with the basics: Zoisite is alive. He can feel all his limbs, down to his fingers and toes. Present and accounted for. Unfortunately feeling them means feeling a good bit of pain thanks to the building that has all but collapsed atop him, but despite his smaller frame, Zoisite is made of tougher stuff than that.

Still, it's an exceedingly uncomfortable place to be, and there doesn't seem to be much give to the debris around him, no matter how much he claws at it. Not until some of it seems to shift from above, and then there's a glimmer of light in his face that Zoisite hadn't been able to see before. He reaches for it, his hand lifting from the rubble, towards the light.

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
A hand clasps his, secure and familiar - a lighter grip than it might be, but then, Zoisite has just had an uncomfortable amount of solid objects fall on him. No words, not just yet. Not until that hand releases his and clears some of the loose rubble away, then uses a few larger pieces and a sizable fragment of chair to stabilize a large piece of wood and take more of the weight off of the buried Shitennou. Give him air to breathe, and space to breathe it in.

Then there are words, low and quick. The concern in them isn't allowed to surface where the others can hear it. Zoisite might be able to make it out anyhow. "Zoisite. Anything bleeding? Broken?" Anything that stabbed - no, that is not going to be thought about, much less asked. 'Bleeding' will do.

Zoisite has posed:
For a brief, terrifying moment, Zoisite's hand does not grip back. He's frozen, unsure of which way is up and which way is down, and the once-familiar hold is foreign to him for several seconds. Until warmth spreads down his fingers, across his palm, and he tightens his grip.

A lurch is all it takes to free Zoisite from the rubble, and it's not the cool, composed figure that most people know. No, there's ash on his face and clothes, his hair is a nightmare, and indeed he is bleeding from a fair few cuts that are upon closer inspection mostly superficial. He coughs once, daintily, behind his free hand, and then flips the matted mess of his hair over his shoulder. "I'm fine," he assures, voice delicately haughty. As if the effect might shatter at a moment's notice. "Help me up."

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
That one less-than-graceful movement brings a quiet exhalation from Kunzite, a breathing out of that moment's terror, a breathing in of at least some degree of reassurance. He does not pause to give that closer inspection, except to any cuts that would make going along with those instructions a bad idea were they worse than they prove to be; instead there's a little brush of fingers at one particular ash smudge, too close to leave alone, before Kunzite drops to one knee to lend an arm, a shoulder, and a back to helping Zoisite to his feet.

The temptation to pick him up bodily is certainly there. But dignity is a thing, and so is finding out how stable Zoi is on his feet. There's a wide range, from 'immensely' to 'not even bothering with the ground' to 'Mamoru will see that knee and ankle in the morning,' and only one way to find out in a hurry.

Zoisite has posed:
Dignity is certainly something Zoisite is clinging to in this moment. There's no getting around what's happened to him, but he's on his own two feet, standing amongst the evidence of his success in other areas. The ash-dusted remains of the brambles that reach towards the sky are bleak and blackened, and he stares up at them for a long moment before letting out a slow, stabilizing breath.

"I'm fine," he repeats, an assurance as much to himself as it is to Kunzite, prompted by the gentle touch to an unknown patch of ashen marking. It seems that, truly, it is indeed the case, with no notable injuries beyond those that might need some tender care and a bandaid to be seen. His fingers slide free and he takes a tentative step both forward and away from the safety Kunzite offers, which finds himself relatively stable. Sore, for sure, but he doesn't let that show on his face. "It's over, then?" he asks, without looking back.

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
"For tonight, it's over," Kunzite says. Voice steadier himself, now. "It's out of him. You were able to crack its hold enough for the others to get in and drive it out. And Mercury was able to find us a target. Tomorrow, we'll prepare to go on the attack. But for tonight, it's over."

He doesn't pursue that step forward; stays where he was. Battered and tired and a little frayed, like the others. But standing, like Zoisite is.

Zoisite has posed:
The cracks start to show. Briefly. Faced away it's harder to tell, but Zoisite's trembling hands lift to cover his face, and he takes in one shuddering inhale, just one, that make his shoudlers shake.

But then he gathers himself back up and nods, turning to look back at Kunzite. If there were ever unshed tears in his eyes, Zoisite has hidden them well. His expression is grim, but set, and he carefully picks his way across the debris between them to lay his hand on Kunzite's arm. "I suppose we ought to follow after them, then," he says as his touch remains there, firm and grounding. Despite having just clawed his way out of the ground himself.

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
Kunzite's free hand comes across without thinking to cover Zoisite's, palm warm against the backs of his fingers. His response isn't precisely a yes. Isn't precisely a no. "Do you want a shower before or after we check in on them?" Gray eyes gentle, just a little. "Or both?"

Zoisite has posed:
With his hand pinned, Zoisite finds himself held still. Of course, he could move away if he wanted to, slip free from under Kunzite's touch and put some space between them. But why would he do that?

His mouth thins into a line, but then the corners twitch upwards for a split second. "I'm a mess, aren't?" and upon asking that, finally takes the opportunity to look down at himself. His uniform is mostly intact, but it's definitely worse for wear. He frowns, a deeply unhappy expression, and then blows out a breath that flutters a strand of hair that's tumbled into his face. "Yes. Surely we can spare a few minutes for that much."

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
"You're no more of a mess than any of us," Kunzite assures him, "and you carry it better." His hand lifts from Zoisite's to tuck that strand back. It will undoubtedly come loose again in a minute or two, but the gesture's made. "A few minutes. Or a little more. Do you want to take care of your hair yourself, or would you like to talk me through dealing with it?" Does he want privacy, or contact? Space, or company? Will Kunzite ever be able to bring himself to ask the actual questions instead of talking around them? ... maybe. When he's not worried a lack of deniability might change the answers.

Zoisite has posed:
The nose-wrinkling that Zoisite does seems to suggest he doesn't quite believe Kunzite on that whole "no more of a mess" business, but he doesn't argue the point. Instead his chin lifts, and his eyes slit to cat's eyes, before he relents with a sigh. "...I don't think I can lift my arms."

It sounds painful, admitting that. He'd poured his whole being into the flames that had seared those brambles, and now there is nothing left to give. Even functioning now is more an act of mental fortitude than it is physical strength.

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
"Then let me take care of you for a little while." Kunzite pauses, as if checking for permission. "We'll look in on them afterward." So Zoisite can see for himself that Mamoru's himself, and so Mamoru has the chance to touch if he needs to, and to decide for himself between privacy or as many of his people around him as he can get, tonight. So that ... any number of things.

The hint of checking-for-permission lingers, just a little. But with that sigh and admission already given, it doesn't take more than a change of expression for Kunzite to catch up Zoisite in his arms and take him away, out of the fading barrier, out of all of this. Teleporting isn't something Kunzite can do, now. But he's not about to make Zoisite walk.

Zoisite has posed:
Zoisite leans to one side, slightly. He's starting to really feel it now, so there's little fight left in him when he says, "Alright, alright." He could fall asleep right here, he's decided. That bit of lumpy gravel that was once a building's facade looks particularly comfortable.

But then instead he's swept up in Kunzite's arms, and he must be far gone because he doesn't even let out a startled yelp. Which would have been thoroughly undignified, of course, but who could blame him? Instead he just relents, his muscles going loose and lax.

Kazuo Saitou has posed:
There will be time for a shower. If Zoisite's still awake when they arrive at the dorms. If not ... well. The problem of whether Kazuo can comb his hair free of mats and tangles, working through them millimeter by millimeter, without waking Zoisite in the process is a problem for Future Kazuo.

Present Kazuo thinks it's worth it, either way.