Kurt woke to sunlight streaming through the windows and the smell of his own dried sweat. His body was pleasantly sore in ways that reminded him exactly what had happened last night.
There were no sign she'd ever been there except for the bite marks and the faint smell of her perfume that still clung to the couch.
He sat up slowly, found his clothes scattered where they'd been thrown, and started getting dressed while his body reminded him of every rough moment.
Kurt left the room and made his way through the warehouse, following the sounds of activity to what looked like an armory.
He stepped into a room where weapons lined the walls: swords, axes, spears, firearms, and objects that looked like they were essence enhanced.
These essence weapons were artifacts built from the remains or cores of dungeon monsters, serving as placeholders for cultivating one's actual abilities. Useful, but not essential.
Several guild members were gearing up, checking equipment and loading supplies into packs with the grim efficiency of people who knew they might not come back.
Rook stood near a table covered in maps and papers, discussing something with another guild member. He looked up when Kurt approached, and if he noticed the bite marks on Kurt's neck, he didn't comment.
"Morning," Rook said. "Sleep well?"
"Well enough." Kurt grabbed a cigarette from the pack in his coat pocket and lit it. "What's the plan?"
"We move out in two hours. Get yourself geared up." Rook gestured to the weapons lining the walls. "Pick something you can use. You remember how to fight?"
Kurt looked at the weapons, and something in his body responded before his brain caught up. His hand reached for a short sword, testing the weight, and his body moved through a series of practiced motions of parry, thrust and guard, before he even realized what he was doing.
"Muscle memory's a beautiful thing, innit?" he muttered.
"Take a backup weapon too," Rook said. "And armor if you can find something that fits. The Hollows are no joke, and your resurrection trick might not help if you're in pieces."
Kurt selected a knife to go with the sword and found leather armor that was worn but serviceable. As he was strapping it on, he felt someone watching him.
Lizzie appeared in the doorway so suddenly he nearly dropped a buckle. She had a small bag clutched in both hands and a grin that was both cheerful and unhinged.
Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled into messy pigtails that looked like she'd done them while running, and she'd changed into practical clothes. A fitted top and leather pants that still managed to show off her unnatural curves.
"Surprise!" she sang, bouncing into the room. "Bet you thought I forgot about you. I didn't forget. I never forget. Well, sometimes I forget, but not important things like—" She shoved the bag at his chest. "—keeping you alive!"
Kurt caught it, blinking. "Morning to you too."
"Morning? Where the hell have you been? It's almost noon." She pulled out several small vials filled with colored liquids, holding them up to the light like they were precious gems.
"Okay okay okay, listen. Red one's for bleeding, like, if you're bleeding a lot and it won't stop and you're thinking 'wow, this is a lot of blood'—that one. Green is poison, obviously, because poison is always green, why is it always green? Doesn't matter. Blue is for burns, which are the worst, don't get burned, seriously, don't."
She shoved the vials at him one by one, talking so fast Kurt could barely keep up.
"Lizzie—"
"I know what you're thinking! 'Lizzie, I can resurrect, why bother?' But here's the thing—" She leaned in close, eyes wide. "—between resurrections, you're still squishy. Super squishy. Like, one good stab and you're leaking everywhere, and THEN you have to die and wait, what? Thirty minutes? And that's boring. So take the potions. Don't be stupid. Well, you're gonna be stupid, you're going into a C-rank dungeon, but be LESS stupid."
Kurt took the vials and tucked them into pouches on his belt. "Thanks..."
She studied him for a moment, head tilting at an unnatural angle, her grin fading into something more serious. "You remember the pool?"
"Not a thing, love. Sorry."
Lizzie's expression shifted to hurt, then a grin, then something darker, all in the space of two seconds. "Alright!" she chirped, way too cheerful. "Fresh start! Clean slate! New Lizzie, new Kurt, new—"
She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down into a kiss without warning.
It was different from Emma's; less violent, more chaotic, like she couldn't decide if she wanted to bite him or laugh against his mouth.
Her hands gripped his shirt tight enough to wrinkle the fabric, and when she pulled back, she was grinning like she'd just won something.
"There!" she said. "Now you've got something to remember. Or forget. Whatever, I'm flexible."
Kurt blinked, brain catching up. "Christ, does everyone in this guild greet people like that?"
"Nah. Just the ones we like." Her smile turned sharper, and she poked his chest. "And you, Kurt Manchester, were very, very liked. Past tense. Present tense. Future tense? We'll see!"
She spun on her heel and started toward the door, then stopped, looking back over her shoulder. "Oh! One more thing."
"Yeah?"
"Don't die too much, okay?" Her voice went quieter. "I know you come back, but... it's still weird. So just. Try not to, yeah?"
Before Kurt could respond, she was gone, skipping out of the armory and leaving him standing there with a handful of potions and the growing realization that his past self had been involved with two very dangerous, very complicated women.
"Focus," Rook called from across the room. "We're not going to a party."
"Could've fooled me," Kurt muttered, but he finished gearing up.
The next hour was spent loading supplies into packs and going over mission details. Emma briefed them again on the layout of the Crimson Hollows, the known threats, and the evacuation protocols if shit hit the fan.
Kurt listened, but his mind kept wandering, to Emma's teeth marks on his shoulder, to Lizzie's grin and the brief flash of vulnerability in her eyes.
Whoever he'd been before, the man clearly had zero impulse control and a type that could best be described as "dangerously unhinged."
If the dungeons didn't do him in, he had two guesses of what might.
***
A/N: I hope you're enjoying this so far. Add to Library and send a power stone or two if you're. Thank you and peace!