TIDES ARE TURNING [P]

[Riley Salvatici]

It all started when she drew the short straw that morning, landing her with the joyous lot of ‘Fulsi escort’ for the day. She had been at the meeting point at the edge of the park, taking cover from a summer shower under a massive, gnarled oak, when the Carna patrol found her.

Four to one, they weren’t the worst odds Riley had seen. They thought she’d be easy prey, female and alone. She took satisfaction in correcting their misconceptions.

There was a price to pay, of course.

Teeth grit against the pain, she stumbled out into the light rain, leaving the bodies strewn under the oak, bright red marring the vibrant green. The colors quickly disappeared, muted behind the misty gray curtain. The rain wasn’t falling hard enough to penetrate the oak’s canopy, but with luck, it would wash away the blood trail she was leaving.

Swearing steadily in Polish under her breath, she leaned on her staff as she wound her was through brush and trees. Her head was spinning, and she was keenly aware of the fact that she needed to stop the bleeding.

The rusted chain on the door of the gardener’s shed had been broken long ago. Now it was an easy matter to shoulder the door open and slip inside, leaving a smear of scarlet on the chipped paint. It had been cleared out of anything useful, but it was shelter from the rain and prying eyes.

Her bag dropped carelessly to the ground, and Riley put a hand to the wall before she ended up on her knees beside it. Eyes adjusting to the weak light filtering through dirty windows, she took stock. Dog bite on her left calf, stab wound in her wrenched left shoulder, laceration on right hand - note to self, don’t grab blades - claw marks on right thigh and ribs, and curving over the tops of her shoulders and the small of her back. Plus a variety of abrasions, bruises, and a split lip.

Drawing in a deliberate breath through her nose, she gingerly slid off her looser shirt and set it aside. The tank-top wasn’t coming off anytime soon, not with her shoulder as it was, so she carefully peeled up the hem and slid down the straps to bare the injuries. It would be best to simply undo them, but she didn’t think she could reach back at that angle. Boots were next, so she carefully lowered herself to sit on an overturned bucket - riddled with holes, which explained while it was still here. Even so, she nearly blacked out, leaning over to reach the laces.

“This is why I don’t typically wear skinny jeans on jobs,” she remarked tightly, trying to roll up the left pant-leg without dragging it over the wounds. When she finally bared the bite, her breathing was ragged and stars danced before her eyes. Getting access to the gashes on her right thigh would be a challenge - it might be best to bind them over the denim and deal with it when she got home. One thing at a time, she reminded herself.

Pulling her pack over, she unzipped it and dug around inside. Unscrewing her water bottle, she poured some over her hands and her leg, then pulled a roll of gauze out of her first aid kit. With that and the water, she set about wiping away the worst of the blood, taking note of which wounds still bled sluggishly. Her calf and her stabbed shoulder, she determined, needed to be seen to first.

[Ray "East" Kraus]

Damon had just about smacked him upside the head this morning, accusing him of both laziness and being whiny. But East really didn't want to go on this patrol. He had glanced out the broken window of his room in the Gospel complex to discover the dreary weather and promptly wedged himself back between the wall and Damon's body. That didn't last more than five minutes before Damon just as promptly nudged East out of bed and told him to get off his lazy ass and get to Delica park before he was late.

As it turns out he was late. East hadn't felt the urge to go much faster than a brisk walk, especially considering the weather. The fur he normally kept painstakingly neat (it rarely worked--it had a tendency to tuft up in different directions regardless of what he wanted it to do) had become wet within a matter of seconds, even through the thick cover of trees. I think I should have been an whelp, he thought, vexed as he trod gingerly through a muddy puddle. It seemed like a lot less work.

He recognized the park even in the rain; he knew the tree where he was meant to meat up with his escort for the day and he also saw that it was completely vacant. East's head cocked to the side and he paused there, merely the tip of his tail flicking. Something was wrong. It was then that his eyes saw the first body. Then the second. The third. The fourth.

East stepped backward, very nearly falling onto his haunches. Instinct told him to get the hell out of there, but he paused, trying to rationalize it. Where was the Fallen? Were they one of the deceased? He tiptoed forward, perhaps more out of curiosity than concern for his escort. He found himself standing over the body of one of the Carna, sniffing tentatively at the air and registering the scent. Apprehension had bristled the hair at the nape of his neck but he still remained. He looked sidelong at another body, this one a young woman. It was then that East saw the trail of blood. Better sense told him to turn tail and make his way back to Fulsi. It would probably be better for his overall health if he just crawled back into bed, Damon be damned. A sick sort of curiosity--as well as something that told him he needed to follow it--made him take a few steps forward, and then several more.

The trail of blood led on for a while. He recognized the direction it took, towards the shed that was in relatively good condition. The rain continued, hot and humid, dampening his fur and making everything seemed a little more forlorn than it was... The shed peaked up around a cluster of trees, blood smeared on the door. He continued, pausing just outside of it. It had not been closed all the way, allowing East to hook the edge of his paw into the slit opening and pry it open, expecting the worse--

His exposed teeth were suddenly no longer seen, and the timbre of his snarl cut off into words. "... Riley?" He shifted, feeling like an idiot standing in front of her as a soaked cat. The hell! Why should I be feeling like an idiot? She's bleeding to death! His brown eyes were wide and dark. He stood and, with a haphazard glance over his shoulder, stepped into the shed despite whatever protests she could muster. He closed the door behind him and took in the shed, registering the fact it smelled heavily of blood.

Light leaked into the structure through gaps in the wood above. It leaked in the corner, but it was certainly better than being out in the rain. He ignored the fact that it was cramped and knelt in the corner beside her, his hands feeling suddenly useless as he raised them only to drop them. "Let me help. Jesus, what do you need me to do?" He had taken in her injuries when he first saw her. He didn't think there was much he could do, honestly. "What happ--never mind." He could put the pieces together, and even with the situation being what it was, he couldn't help but raise his hand to his face and rub at his brow. "Christ Riley. Four Carna. Really?"

[Riley Salvatici]

The hinges creaked, and it seemed to Riley as if her knife leaped into her hand of its own violation. She didn’t recall grabbing for it, but her fingers were curled around the hilt, body tense as the door swung open. And a cheetah stepped in out of the rain. Fingers loosening, she blinked, even as - “... Riley?” He shifted, and she rolled her eyes. It would, of course, be him.

“Fulsi.” Setting the knife aside, she picked the gauze back up, folded it to a clean spot, and swiped off another trickle of blood. East knelt beside her, and she responded with a low, warning growl. “I need you to not touch anything.” It’s just a flesh wound, as Fuller would say.

Unscrewing the cap of the antiseptic, she braced herself, and splashed a healthy dose over the dog bite. “Mother -” She cut off the curse, and clenched her teeth as she poured a second round over the raw flesh. Puncture wounds were dangerous, and it was critical to make sure she got them clean. The claw wounds from the wildcat would be equally fun. Setting the antiseptic aside, she began to wrap bandages tightly around her lower leg, letting out a hissing breath. “It’s not like I invited them over for a party, East,” she snapped. “I was minding my own goddamn business.”

Securing the bandage, she straightened, squeezing her eyes shut against a wave of dizziness. When it passed, she turned her head to the side to better eye her shoulder. “Want to help? Undo this strap for me.” She tugged at it, then turned her attention elsewhere as he complied. Tearing open an antiseptic wipe with her teeth, she scrubbed carefully at the deep scratches on her ribs. She opened another for her shoulder, but the knife had been well cared for - sharp, not stained or rusty - so she wasn’t overly concerned.

Suture kit was next, though she paused to wrap a strip of bandage around her palm. Taking up the needle, she expelled a hard breath, and began to stitch. It didn’t take long, and since the Fulsi wanted to be useful, when she finished she gestured to the knife she’d set aside. “Cut the thread and tie it off.” Riley held the thread taut for him, then exchanged the needle for the antiseptic, to give the closed wound a final splash and a swipe with gauze.

Satisfied that she wasn’t in imminent danger of bleeding out, she finally took a moment to breathe, leaning gingerly against the wall. “Jesus.” She dragged her good hand over her face, wincing as it tugged her shoulder. Thigh next, her weary brain prompted. Then the gouges where the cat pounced on her back. A visit to a medic was in order, to make sure nothing got infected, but at the very least, she should be able to make it home.

[Ray "East" Kraus]

Don't touch anything? East stared at her with a slackened jaw, uncharacteristically taken aback by the circumstances. Before the Menagerie, he couldn't even have imagined something like this. The absurdity of it made him want to laugh while the severity of it made him want to call an ambulance. Considering the second option was implausible, he shook his head and offered a begrudging smirk. "Jeez, Riles. We need to start meeting on better terms."

His eyes were on her when she abruptly splashed antiseptic over one of the wounds. East grimaced on his own accord. "Don't get pissed off at me for it, Christ." He hated being helpless in situations like this, but he didn't know what to do except for feel sorry for her and East figured that pity wasn't Riley's style, per se. When she finally gave him instruction he jumped to it eagerly.

The following minutes passed with her gritted teeth and pain, East offering hands when they were necessary or otherwise grimacing at the whole ordeal. It was not until she paused to take a breath that he came up with an idea, trying to erase the image of her stitching up her own skin. "No." He pushed her back against the wall gently when she leaned up, his eyes dark and intense. "Calm down for a second." He had learned that it was better not to use his power on her without permission, but East could not help but send the gentlest sensation of calmness in her direction, tempered by exhaustion.

"Don't freak out." He eyed her like she was part animal or something before proceeding to lean up her leg at the knee. He scrambled for the antiseptic and gauze, settling the gauze on his lap while proceeding to drip the disinfectant on the injuries on her thigh. He flicked his eyes at her, gauging her reaction. "For future reference, you might wanna avoid the skinny jeans even if they make your ass look good." East didn't want to rip them, in case she felt like protesting that. Instead, he began to tightly band the gauze around the wounds, slowing the bleeding. He may not have been a medic, but he'd picked up a thing or two from being in the infirmary on occasion as well as having been a tenderfoot.

"What do you want me to do next?" East was surprised to discover that he actually cared. As in, he wouldn't be particularly happy if this Fallen died from blood loss or infection or whatever killed her. That, and his hands were shaking from the sheer impossibility of the situation. I hate this place, he thought, nauseous despite himself.

[Riley Salvatici]

Privately, she thought that if they kept meeting under these circumstances, it would probably be best not to meet at all. Part of her wanted to protest - she wasn’t pissed at him, just in general - but there wouldn’t be much point to it. She had a feeling he wasn’t truly offended, anyway.

With a sigh, Riley straightened, thinking to continue patching up, only to find herself pressed back against the wall. She calmed slightly at East’s touch, ceding to the pressure on - she bolted upright, sending sears of pain through her various wounds. “Do not voodoo me, Fulsi,” she snapped warningly. Though he wasn’t really a stranger at this point, it was exceedingly rare for her to become calmer in response to contact while injured. The intent had clearly been well meaning, so she wasn’t truly angry, but she was vulnerable in her injury, and thus on edge. She knew better than to let him get away with it, even once, without getting called out, or he might get ideas in the future. Still, she slumped back against the wall, albeit grudgingly, and didn’t protest as he propped her leg up.

Although she watched critically as he tended to the wound, she didn’t comment - it was a difficult process to mess up, and the trickiest part was working around the denim. Apparently he agreed with her assessment that removing said denim would be a job and a half, since he simply bound the bandages around the pant-leg. An elegant sneer was her response to the accompanying comment. “I’ll try to remember that the next time I get kidnapped to a giant fishbowl, and plan my wardrobe accordingly.”

She didn’t speak again until he released her leg, Riley carefully lowering it back to the floor before shrugging a careful shoulder. “Not much else to do, just clean the claw marks. They probably need stitches, but I should have a medic check them first.” She didn’t want to seal in any nastiness, and it wasn’t like she could properly reach the wounds, anyway. Eyeing her very special helper, she surmised he wasn’t exactly steady enough at the moment, even if she did want sutures done.

Reaching out, she caught his wrist with her good hand, fingers firm, stilling his faint tremors. “Relax, Kraus. It looks worse than it is.” Her teeth flashed in a sardonic grin. “I’m remarkably hard to kill. Just this, and we can get out of here.” Taking the wrist she held, she pulled it over to place the antiseptic in his hand, then turned carefully to bare her back and the four sets of claw wounds she was currently sporting. Two curling over the top of her shoulders, and two on the backs of her hips. The lacerations stung, more than anything else. Damn cat.

[Ray "East" Kraus]

East, who had anticipated her retaliation, did not bother to look up when she spoke to him. He just smiled, albeit with some exasperation. "Gotta say, me being nice doesn't happen very often, 'specially if there isn't something for me to gain out of it." He said this bluntly. Really, what was the point in lying towards her? He had learned by now that she would not be easily manipulated or lied to. There was no pro to this con, so East didn't bother with it. The honesty was strange on his tongue. He proceeded to blame this atypical honesty on seeing her in such a ravaged state. "What I'm saying is that I'm not voodooing you. I'm trying to help and you should learn to let people do that for you a little more often, maybe. I dunno what you did outside of the Menagerie but it sure screwed you up."

Although he was rambling, it steadied his nerves to hear his own voice going on about something that wasn't quite as significant as this... this whatever. Life in his hands? He didn't want to take it to that extreme but, in the moment it seemed like she was on the verge of bleeding out. I'm overreacting, East told himself, again and again as he worked. It was all he could do. He hadn't been made for this kind of thing. Maybe if he had grown up a farm boy, sowed from the earth like their crops, he may have been better equipped mentally.

But he'd abandoned that life and had never wanted it back. "Hey, any other time I'd say the jeans are great." East shrugged, but leaned back on his heels to overlook his handwork. It was rough, sure, but it would be suitable until she got to a medic. He was even a little proud, in a detached kind of way.

Whatever thoughts he may have had were abruptly cut off by the grip against his wrist. East raised his eyes to her for the first time since he had dedicated himself to "fixing" her injuries. He had avoided her gaze until then because he knew, he knew that he could not keep the weariness out of his expression. As good as a liar he claimed to be, he was momentarily laid bear. "Okay." The comment was dry and strangely void of humor. For one, he could think of nothing clever to say.

I can do this. She had stilled him some so that when she turned, he was not overwhelmed by the sight of her ravaged back. East sighed but began the process all over, disinfecting the wounds methodically. He had to distract himself from it somehow, however. So he asked the first question that came to mind. "So... about you being hard to kill..." East trailed off only to continue a few seconds later, after he had thoroughly cleaned the uppermost injuries. "Why is that? Were you a part of UNIT's military or what? I had a friend that did that..."

Take a breath, for Christ's sake. He wasn't even the injured one, and East felt as though he were reacting more strongly than she was.

[Riley Salvatici]

She choose to overlook that first remark, on the grounds that it was either too honest or too sneaky for her tastes, and she didn’t particularly want to think about which. Trying to figure out the Fulsi’s motivations wasn’t at the top of her priorities, although the question lurked persistently at the back of her mind. Instead, her good - well, better - hand flung itself to the side in an exasperated gesture. “If you hadn’t noticed, I am letting you help!” It didn’t mean she had to be gracious about it, though. She’d been beat up less than an hour ago, she was entitled to be irritable and snappish for a least another 30 minutes.

Despite what he seemed to think, Riley was perfectly capable of accepting assistance - from people she trusted. Currently that circle was limited to Jonah, Hunter, and her parents, and the former was the only one inside the dome. Her ringmates were acceptable enough, but a Fulsi that had already shown he was willing to use his empathy on her without consent? She wasn’t ‘screwed up,’ as he so eloquently put it, at least not in regard to trust. She was simply practical. Her codependence on her brother was another matter entirely, but that was beside the point.

Opening that can of worms was not something she wanted to do, so she didn’t continue as she turned her back to East, letting silence fall. Her personal life was none of his business, anyway. That was, of course, when he began probing for information, surprising a bark of laughter from her. “Hardly. We were the ones UNIT most wanted in custody - or better yet, six feet under. Or we would have been, if they’d known who we were.” A hand lifted, reaching back to touch the compass tattoo that spanned the space between her shoulder blades, framed by bloody scratches and the tank top that wrapped her chest.

Riley let her hand drop back into her lap and didn’t elaborate, thumb tracing consideringly across her bruised knuckles. He would probably ask, and she wasn’t sure how she would answer. Their organization had been secret, painstakingly so, and she never would have revealed even that much outside the dome. Things were different now, but she hadn’t survived this many years by not planning ahead. And there were still the Keepers to consider, no doubt eavesdropping on every conversation within the glass.

A faint noise saved her from having to decide, drawing her attention to the world outside the old shed. She stilled, head lifting, shushing East almost as an afterthought. There, again. Footsteps, the low murmur of voices. Riley tensed, fingers extending to curl around the hilt of her knife. The voices moved further off, but she remained frozen until they had faded completely. They’d either been far enough away that they hadn’t seen the shed, cloaked in greenery, or they were simply passing by and had no interest in it.

“That could’ve been my brother, but something tells me no.” Jo had a tendency to show up when she was injured, dating back to when she’d broken her arm when she was twelve, but he probably would have come alone. Nor would he have been so quiet, or overlooked the shed. “We need to move. If they find that mess, they could follow the blood trail as easily as you did.” Hauling herself to her feet, aching but vertical, Riley refastened the straps of her tank top, carefully settled the hem back around her hips, and shoved her other shirt into her bag.

Snagging her staff from its resting place against the wall, she paused, looking at the Fulsi. “I need to find a Fallen patrol. You coming, staying, or going?” The group that had passed was likely Fallen (in which case they were safe, but she didn’t really want to take that chance), Fulsi (in which case East would probably want to join them), or Carna (in which case they should run away as fast as possible). It could also be rogues, which, as an unknown quantity, were generally bad news when injured.

[Ray "East" Kraus]

East responded with a derisive snort, unimpressed with her answer. She was hardheaded, something that he had learned early on, perhaps when she had first beat him into the ground. Allowing him to help and being glad for it were two entirely different things, although East supposed that he hadn't specified. He simply watched her for a moment as they re-positioned themselves. His eyes, once he began to clean her shoulder, took note of the tattoo peaking from her ravaged shirt. Her hand touched it as she spoke of her past. The fact he noticed reminded East of Leon, as he taught him the art of conning which was (more often than one may have expected) merely the art of observation. He may have pursued the topic, his curiosity piqued despite his weariness, but he was not given the opportunity.

Call it divine intervention, but it seemed as though they had company. East did not need Riley telling him to be quiet; he was hardly breathing, his dark eyes focused on the door of the shed as he awaited their "company". He half expected the door to be burst open and wrathful Carna to come filing in. You're overreacting again, East thought. He nodded in response to her comment, but he was still surprised when she stood up. 

She was ten times tougher than he was, East decided. She had gotten beat and tossed around and yet she was still ready to continue. "Perseverance of will" took on a new meaning to him, one that was accompanied by the image of a blond Fallen. He rose with exasperation, eyeing her as though he did not fully believe she could stay standing. "I'll go s'long as your Fallen aren't going to arrest me." East shrugged as though it did not matter, as though he was not afraid. But inside of him there was a child's voice, telling him to go back to Fulsi and forget about this Fallen girl and the danger that came with her.

He stood by the door for a moment, asserting the fact that there was really nothing outside. He could not hear movement aside from the light howl of wind beyond; East, deciding that the cost was clear, opened the door and happened a glance each direction. "Better hurry. If you're Fulsi, they'll probably loop back around." His voice was pitched low as he stepped farther out into the open, feeling high on adrenaline. Afraid. He had known apprehension, he had known caution, but he had never known this ungodly feeling. Whereas it may have scatterbrained someone else, East felt strangely calm in the face of it. I could die, he thought, remembering the last time he had seen Riley, the rogues and their attack and the taste of blood on his teeth. 

"Its clear." East said it but, after doing so, he realized that he may have mumbled the words instead of speaking them clearly. He stepped farther away from the small shack, his eyes tracking Riley's blood before glancing in the direction he assumed Fallen was. He waited for her just outside of the building, his thumbs hooked nervously into the belt loops of his jeans.

[IronChild]

KRISSLEE RUMOR

[Jonah Salvatici]

Riles had been gone too long was the crux of the problem. She should have been back by lunch had everything gone according to plan. Not that anything ever went according to plan in this place, he was starting to notice. The rain, though gentle and almost warm, created an unbearable humidity both in and out the railcars. A suffocating weight pressing in on all sides as he prowled from one end of Fallen's ramshackle encampment to the other, seeking whatever small distractions he could find. He could feel a headache building at his temples, jabbing him every time he glanced toward the thin spires of Fulsi, and it made him snappish when he tried to deal with Avery. The man talked too much and had his head firmly up his ass, where apparently everything was sunshine and goddamn rainbows. If he could've, without half the camp coming down on his head for it, including Riley, he would've punched that optimistic australian bitch in the teeth.

Snarling insults all the way to the medic's train car to grab a spare full canteen as soon as he'd finished flipping off Fallen's perverted version of an authority figure, Jonah swung the strap over his shoulder, and abruptly turned on his heel, bouncing off the single, rust riddled step to hit stride in a quick jog. As soon as the ground opened up to the soft roll of dunes and scrub brush, pangs behind his eyes increasing to a needle sharpness the further he got from Fallen, the harder he pushed himself to reach the border. Fulsi's scent hit him as he came over the ridge, wind turning to slap him in the face, and he slowed; rain spread sideways to stick the fabric of his shirt to his chest. Turning toward the park, he wove between trees, moving at a steady clip, skirting well around The Studio as he headed for the heart of the park.

Under the rot of wood, bitter green, and clean rain, Jonah could catch a metallic tang, first only in a wisp carried on an intermittent breeze cutting through branches, then stronger, coating his mouth with every hushed plume of breath that slid past his lips. Blood, and a lot of it, he recognized after pausing to crouch under one of the large pines, sipping at barely cool water in his borrowed canteen. Scanning the surrounding area for signs of movement, a cause to the thick tang in the air, and finding nothing more than wildlife, he pulled himself from the ground, groaning at the needling ache behind his eyes. Creeping closer to the park, cutting around the edge, sticking inside the treeline, Jonah came across the bodies far sooner than he'd thought he would. Four in total, and all Carna from the mingled scent that clung to their clothes and skin. Kicking one over onto it's stomach brought up a flare of something that froze him still, rumble shivering mutely in the mist: Riley. The picture became too clear very quickly, and he crudely trod on the poor sod's lifeless fingers; pointless except to discharge the anger now bubbling too close, hot and sharp, under his skin. He had to find her.

A rough search of the bodies provided little in the way of clues but for the fact that she had lived, they had not. Pride flashed, a bright white spark, beside his rage, and he turned back to circle the old oak in full this time; found a spattering of blood, half mark of familiar boots in the dirt, the round stamp her staff had made from taking her weight like a crutch. With voices rising faintly off to his left, somewhere through overgrown foliage, he dove headlong forward, chasing little patches of stained grass; a weather beaten roof, moss holding it together, winked at him between branches the closer he drew. With the pair at his back. This part of the park was either close enough to the border to warrant a scouting party, they were hunters--and piss poor ones at that--on their way to familiar grounds, or they were off duty and heading for somewhere else. Which left him with few feasible options, in his opinion: Run and hope to find Riley, alive, before they could; stop, wait, and ambush them--a fight would cost time he wasn't sure he had to spare though; or hide and continue looking for his sister once they'd passed.

Teeth grit in irritation, Jonah dropped the canteen and shifted; ear perking and lip curling as new sounds and scents assaulted his canine senses, toes squelching in muddy sod when he turned, nabbed the strap of the bottle and drug it with him as he ducked, nearly vanishing, behind a low wall of tangled shrubs. Growing soggier by the minute, he waited for the footsteps of the pair to pause or idle when they passed his hiding spot, half expecting one to turn and notice the dog peering up at them from under a bush. Their pace continued without hitch though, carrying them not only past him, but the garden shed as well. Freshly smeared with dirt as he crawled from under snarled brush, leaving the flask; thin thread of words yanking his attention to the shed again. Trotting toward the shelter, lead by his nose this time, a man's voice muttered something else, quiet protest of hinges cutting him off as the door swung open, allowing a fresh wave of blood and yes, Riley, to wash over Jonah.

His vision narrowed, focusing on the man who casually emerged while his sister bled somewhere inside, to the point where he wasn't even aware his perspective on the world shifted; going from dog to human mid stride, coming at him sidelong. Silent snarl twisting his mouth, teeth snapping, his hand, as he lunged, intent on the darkened doorway behind the man, snapping out to collar the side of his neck and slam his head against the closest vertical surface. The shed's door. Weight swinging, kneecap jerking up hard along ribs and hip first, followed by a heel to the tender nape of joint to take his leg out from under him, Jonah's fingers seized with the urge to crush, pressing hard to the ridges of cartilage in his throat as they followed him down, clearly unwilling to release their purchase. Green eyes, vibrant in a face smudged by damp dirt, stared down coldly at the stranger, each exhale vibrating with the slightest of growls. "Where is she?"

[Riley Salvatici]

“I'll go s'long as your Fallen aren't going to arrest me.” It was a relief to roll her eyes - one of the few motions that didn’t hurt. “We’re the closest thing this dome has to pacifists. Not heat-seeking missiles.” They certainly weren’t going to violate the Fulsi’s ceasefire agreement just out of spite. She wasn’t even particularly concerned about running into a Fulsi patrol, despite East’s warning. It was possible - probable, even - that they would simply escort her safely to a Fallen patrol. After all, she’d been waiting to meet a Fulsi when she was ambushed in the first place. The only real reason she preferred a Fallen patrol was that you were never sure who you were gonna get. This hypothetical Fulsi patrol leader could turn out to be the sort that would take her ‘back to the city for her own protection.’ A hostage situation, all dressed up pretty with a bow. Or they could claim she’d bled out before they got there. Unlikely to happen, but she was unsure how tight a ship the Fulsi alpha ran, or how cavalier she was with her own rules. Better to be safe than sorry. When East prodded her to hurry, she arched an eyebrow with a sardonically magnanimous ‘after you’ gesture. He was, after all, standing in front of the door. As he slipped outside, Riley took a moment to glance around and assure she hadn’t left anything behind. Satisfied, she moved to follow, only snap her head around when something cracked against the door. For a beat she waited, stock still in anticipation, but nothing crashed through the wall. Taking it upon herself to do the crashing, Riley kicked the door open and slid outside, leading with her staff, the end already whipping toward the blond head looming over East. She yanked the blow up short, however, with an exasperated huff. “Jonah! Seriously? Let him up, you overgrown pup. I’ve already pieced that Fulsi back together once, don’t make me do it again.” Planting her staff for balance, she leaned forward to peer down at East. “Anything broken, Fulsi? Want me to smack him for you?” It was remarkably to tease them, now. Logically, she knew they weren’t completely out of the woods, but her blood was singing Jonah Jonah Jonah Jonah with relief. Battered though she might be, they had yet to meet a force that could take down the two of them. For as long as she could remember, her twin meant safety. Now especially, she would scoff to see a Carna patrol try him - she had felt the fury rolling off him the moment she stepped through the door. She certainly would have been fine on her own, but sibling backup was always the best kind. ooc; WHOO NEW TABLE.

[Ray "East" Kraus]

Out of everything that could possibly go wrong East had not anticipated was an enraged blonde Fallen. He was thinking more along the lines of bloodthirsty Carna or his own temperamental Ring. One second, nothing. The next, he couldn't breath. East turned toward the blurred image in his peripheral too late. Jonah had already seized him; his head snapped backward harshly, the gesture accompanied by an audible smack of skull against wood. East didn't know what the hell people meant by seeing canaries. He saw black lightening, flashing abruptly across his vision and then transforming just as suddenly into whiteness, edging his eyes and his senses. He could feel only the resounding pain of his head and his utter breathlessness and the urge, above all, to escape. 

Then a knee. A knee to his ribs, to his hips. His world was collapsing with each star-burst of pain. His only survival mechanism was to run, not fight. But it wasn't exactly a feasible method of escape when his feet were not even beneath him any longer. His hands clutched uselessly at Jonah's wrist as his body writhed and bucked. She? Who was she? East was staring fearfully into green eyes. He just wanted to be let go! He had done nothing wrong. His lips curled back into a snarl, disdain coloring his features. If he could not escape, then he would make do by rebelliously hating his attacker. Within those seconds he forgot completely about Riley and his "mission". He was intent only on getting away. Within his sudden lapse of control, East lashed out unintentionally with Chempathy, an onslaught of anger and helplessness. It was instinctive, the only defense his body could mount, as though emotions had any sway in battle. 

"Jonah! Seriously? Let him up, you overgrown pup. I’ve already pieced that Fulsi back together once, don’t make me do it again.” The words seemed to break a spell East had not known existed. He was released abruptly. He rolled onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath. East had never tasted air so sweet; the revelation did not make him grateful to be alive. On contrary, he still felt upset.

Strangers attempting to asphyxiate him seemed to have that effect.

"Yes, smack him." East stood up. It was not a feat of will so much as one of pride. He rubbed at his throat, casting an accusatory glance toward Riley's brother. He noticed now what he had not before. Jonah looked extremely similar to Riley, albeit a masculine version. If East was not still struggling to breathe, he may have commented on the fact that this was her renowned twin. He did not. He merely stole a moment to take into account the similarities and differences between the two. He did not even know Jonah but, from his reaction when he had not found Riley, East could guess at his biggest weakness. It was his sister. The con man in his died hard--he put away that information, still struggling to see Jonah as something other than a threat to his life.  "Is this how you say hello?" He should not have been surprised. The man was related to Riley, after all. 

East took a moment to extend his hand in a hesitant greeting. "I'm East Kraus. Oh, you know. Just the guy who was helping your sister out." His smile was as thin and sharp as the edge of a knife. "Pleasure to meet you." He was sure he would have a bruise--or several--in no time. But the Menagerie was no place to hold a grudge, in East's opinion. Jonah was no longer a threat to him; at least not with Riley alive and well, acting as a peacekeeper between them. How many times had she saved East now? 

[Jonah Salvatici]

Blood, there, on the hands that scrambled against his wrist, nails nicking in a panicked flurry; Riley's blood. It made his grip on the man's throat tighten another inch despite how his captive writhed and pleaded with wide, fearful brown eyes. He could kill this man, guilty or not, he acknowledged absently, ridges of cartilage rippling as the panic of suffocation set in, throat working in tiny spasms for air that couldn't be found. He could, and he might have when the wave of anger seeping off the Fulsi piled atop his own, adding fuel to the fire. It would've been so easy to crush his windpipe. If not for the door that slammed open and faint whisk of wood slicing through the air, aimed at his head. Riley's staff, where it halted short of his cheek, given a sidelong glance from the corner of his eye, grin spreading across his mouth. And Jonah's hand instantly released, leaping free at the familiar ring of his name. Easy as that. Murderous rage put neatly back on the shelf to burn out.

"You look like shit, Rye." Was how he greeted her, turning and stepping closer, staff gently guided away from his face by a press of palm, crossing between her and the Fulsi he'd just attempted to strangle; gaze roving slowly over her battered frame with growing concern. "He important?" Slipping into fluent Polish, the fingertips that'd trailed up the staff's length and her arm, came to touch her torn shoulder tenderly, lifting the strap of her tank out the way with a hook of thumb, and allowing it to fall back into place after he'd finished tilting his head to examine the claw marks. "Then can I kill him?" Jo arched a brow, casting a backward look at the guy on his ground, hacking up a lung. "A teeny tiny smidgen of killing?" Finger and thumb, less than a half inch apart, rose into her field of view, hoping to earn a laugh at the very least. But then the idiot from Fulsi pulled at the edge of his attention, forcing Jonah to spin halfway and regard him with that same bent brow.

"You wanna go back to choking? Because I can arrange that. And I don't mean in a fun way." Jonah shot back, in english, zipper on his damp sweater purring as he tugged it open, shrugging it off to then wrap carefully around his twin. "Well. East." The hand extended his way, brittle smile pasted on his face, received a look that said there was absolutely no way on God's green earth that he would be shaking it any time soon. "I'll be taking Riley home now. But thanks for all your help." A condescending pat on the chest for East and he was nabbing the staff from his sister, leaning in, offering her the chance to swing up, onto his back for a ride.


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[ooc: Sorry so late! <3 Had work and computer both implode at once. Kept it short to keep things moving.]

[Riley Salvatici]

“Thanks,” she said dryly. “Just what a girl wants to hear.” She gave her brother a light smack upside the head, for East’s benefit as well as her own, then shrugged in answer to his question, her hand seesawing in an eh, so-so motion. "Then can I kill him? A teeny tiny smidgen of killing?” An amused snort was Riley’s reply, as she switched to Polish as well. “Believe it or not, he’s been moderately helpful. He tries, at least. Didn’t show up until after the fight.” Jonah was distracted by the Fulsi before he could reply. Leaning heavily on her staff, she raised her eyes skyward in a bid for patience and accepted the sweatshirt out of habit more than anything else. Boys, seriously. “Could we put the testosterone away for two minutes, please? Thanks.” She stepped around Jonah to face East squarely, slowly and deliberately reaching toward his throat, giving him plenty of opportunity to realize what she was doing. With gentle fingers, she prodded around his trachea. It was a gesture of trust, more than anything - if Jonah had intended to crush the cartilage, he would’ve - showing she was still willing to have skin to skin contact with him, even knowing he could manipulate her emotions while she was at it. “Nothing damaged, just some bruising,” she assured, withdrawing her hand. Inclining her head, she continued, “I really do appreciate your help, but we should probably part ways here. I doubt you want to spend any more time with this one -” a jerk of her thumb to indicate Jonah “- than necessary. Can’t say I blame you,” she added dryly, with a sly sidelong look at her twin. “Maybe one of these days we’ll meet without one of us bleeding. You’ll tell your alpha about the Carna? They attacked me while I was waiting for one of your lot, but I don’t know if that was deliberate.” There was no proof that they were displeased with the Fulsi-Fallen agreement, but Riley didn’t think it was much of a stretch to at least consider the idea. Though she let Jonah steal her staff away, she shook her head as his shoulder dipped toward her in silent offer. Instead, she shoved her pack into his hands with an affectionate bump of her shoulder to take any sting out of the refusal, and shifted to her four-legged (and much more stable) form. Travel would be faster this way and, more than anything, she just wanted to get back to her train car and lie down. She pressed her nose briefly to the back of East’s hand, then turned away, letting her tail thwack Jo affectionately across the legs. “Safe travels, Fulsi.” ooc; talk about -late- good lord someone shoot me. I wrote this so that it could wrap up the thread, or we can continue if you guys want. either way!