you could rattle the stars.
you could do anything,
if only you dared

The assassin is entirely aware of the threatening sound of his voice as he bites out those words as if they burned his throat. She might have been surprised that he didn't fight her on it but she was too damn exhausted to summon that astonishment, let alone to care if she angered the man. Waving him off as if he were no more than a fly, she slouches farther into that chair, her eye lids are heavy though her mind reels at her day, her life. Hearing him push off that door frame and head farther into the house, she's thankful that he's gone for a moment as she pulls her pale legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees. Burying her face into her knees, she stays like that for a long time, whether it were minutes or hours she's uncertain, though she knows she must have fallen asleep at some point in the night as she unfolds quickly, launching herself to her feet. Heart hammering rapidly in her chest, she takes gulping breaths, her forehead slick with sweat as that nightmare chases her from her slumber. It takes a moment to gather her thoughts, to calm that thundering in her breast, to not reach for a weapon to defend herself from her imaginary attacker.

Slowing her breathing, she runs a hand through her hair, only to snag on the braid in which it remained through the night. Reaching up with slender fingers, she undoes her hair, wavy locks or white falling around her shoulders before peering out into the hallway, noting the sun has yet to rise. Her apartment is silent and she suddenly wonders if Lazarus decided to take a chance and high tail it home. Vhalla's brows crease before she quietly pads down the hallway, peering into the bedroom, absent of any male figure. Shrugging to herself, she moves into the room, rummaging through the closet as she quickly changes into tightly fitting pants and a tight, spandex like shirt. Shoving shoes into her feet, she ties back her hair into a ponytail before wandering into the front room, hesitating as her eyes take in the sleeping form of Lazarus, slouched over the table asleep. It reminded her of herself; exhausted from all those long nights, falling asleep at that table and surrounded by weapons.

The assassin pauses, watching him for a while as his back rose and fell with his steady breathing. There was something comforting to watch the man asleep; to wonder what he was dreaming about as he looked so... peaceful. His face is hidden by his hood, yet, Vhalla could picture an almost serene look etched into his features. Pushing the thought away, she quietly moves past him, retrieving the blanket on the couch before she gently placed it around his shoulders. Why the assassin did it, she wasn't entirely sure herself, he just didn't look like such an ass when he was asleep she supposed. Without looking back, she steps around the table and exits out the door and into the warehouse below. Eyes briefly travel back to the smear of blood on the door, her eyes frowning before she quickly retrieved a towel and scrubs it clean. The less blood around her apartment the better. Discarding the silver stained towel, she descends the stairs, flicking on light switches as she goes. There is a moment where she pauses, inspecting her wound, prodding it to make sure it wouldn't reopen.

Satisfied with her inspection, she steps forward onto that track before she begins a light job, warming up those stiff muscles. She doesn't know how long she runs for, until her body is sweaty and she is thoroughly warm. It is then that she steps into the center of the warehouse, summoning that fire as she begins to work on creating weapons and shields from her flame, concentration etched onto her face as she frowns with a particularly hard shield she had been working on. Grunting in frustration, she finally moves to the dummies, several made entirely of steel while others were nothing more than reinforced, padded dummies as she starts to throw punch after lunch, kick after kick. Even when her breath turns ragged, and she's all but panting, the air burning her kings, she doesn't stop. This is what she was created for, this is what chased away those nightmares; it was clear in her movements, the way her toned muscles glint in the morning rays that begun to stream through the high windows, that she had been at this a long time.

Vhalla Solarn

To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered