RUNNING ON EMPTY [TREV]

[JOCELYN]

The sun was bright in Jocelyn’s eyes, the brilliant golden light breaking the horizon and glaring off the warehouse walls wherever she turned. Her flattened hand lifted and touched her brow to shade her sensitive eyes from the assault. She’d been up most of the night in quiet conversation with Seija. The few hours she had managed to sleep were broken by Griff who had noticed the Scout groupings were uneven in both number and skill, and had asked what do to. Pleased he had noticed the issue, and after a moment of thought she had nodded in thanks and sent him off to find another Scout, then meet her at the Medical Ward. She had not yet established a new Beta or Delta and that left her to deal with every matter be it large or small. Now, she headed toward the Medical Ward. She’d heard there was another Scout that had been off the rosters a few weeks healing up an injury. She’d heard about him the day before as apparently he was not very quiet about the fact that he felt ready to be back in the action. As a former Huntress, she'd often been lent to scouting parties in the past - one of which had been with Trev. He was a good Scout, Joss recalled, and she needed him. However, if he wasn’t truly healed up enough to keep up and be of use, and the Medic didn’t feel he was fit, she was going to have to figure something else out. “Mornin’ Miss Jocelyn,” said Dr. Greggory, almost tightly. His insistent propriety in calling her, ‘Alpha Jocelyn’ yesterday had been unnecessary, and Joss had requested repeatedly that he address her simply by her name. By the third time the man reluctantly agreed, but had adopted the Miss as a replacement. It seemed the doctor still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea. “Good Morning, Dr. Greggory,” she said politely. “Might I have a word with you?” “Of course,” he said, plunged his hands into a bucket of hot, soapy water, and briskly dried them on a rag as he followed her to a corner of the building. “I need another Scout today before the group that’s out now gets back. I heard Trev might be ready to head out. What do you think?” Jocelyn kept her voice low. “Trev? Mmm,” he thought. “Can you have the Scouts out now take another shift?” he asked, with a hint of a patronizing tone. Patiently, Jocelyn shook her head. “They already have done, and they need a break. I have Griff hunting down someone else but I need more than just who Griff can find,” she said. “Is Trev up to it?” she prompted again. “He certainly thinks he is and there isn’t much I’d keep him for except rest. He should be alright if he takes it easy,” Dr. Greggory said thoughtfully. “This way.” He led them down a line of cots, down a cramped hallway, and into another room to a make-shift crate-cot that held the man in question. She stopped at the foot of the bed and crossed her arms. Jocelyn was of an average height, but her posture and presence always seemed to lend a few inches to her stature. Her long, silver-blonde hair was twisted away from her face into a hasty but tight french-braid that trailed to the small of her back. Black rimmed her lashes, making her rich blue eyes icy and sharp. She’d not wanted to fuss with outfits today, and had thrown on black pants and a black heavy jacket over a dark wife beater. Her boots were tough and well broken in, one of her most comfortable pair and her machetes at her back and hip were always well sharpened. “Trev,” she said in greeting with a nod. “How are you feeling?” she asked, eyeballing the room. It almost looked like a storage room, and he was the only one in it. I wonder why, she thought distantly. Trevor Williams

[Trevor Williams]

T R E V O R | W I L L I A M S It was cold, dim, grey, and above all else it was boring, and Trevor wanted out. The room that he was currently occupying was, for all intents and purposes, a supply closet that had been converted into a makeshift sick room for those that needed some solitary rest. Or confinement. While the medics were kind enough - if a bit gruff, depending on who you spoke to - he felt like he was under quarantine, even though the reason he was there had little to do with illness and moreso to do with injury. Still, the room, despite its physical cleanliness, had an odour that refused to dissipate, a nauseating combination of three-day old sweat and stale vomit. It was driving him a bit mad, truth be told, and it was made worse by the fact that anyone who visited him who wasn't a medic always managed to sneak in an accusatory look. It isn't me, his thoughts would always whine. But only a telepath might care to listen to such things. The scout shared his brother's dislike for all manner of hospitals, doctor's visits and needles, and back at home, as a child, there had been many a tearful check-up. He wasn't terrified like Dalton had always been - nightmares had fed that particular fear of Dal's - but they made him uncomfortable. Being placed on bedrest was one of the most challenging things he'd had to deal with since coming to the dome, and that was saying a lot. Because being confined to a bed sucked. It had been necessary, though, very necessary; the joint in his ankle had healed well, and he was able to walk on it, but his back was still a bit stiff, and the bruises and jagged cuts and bites were still in the process of fading. At least he didn't feel like quite such a trainwreck. Originally he'd stayed in one of the shared cot rooms, but after complaining about wanting to go back to work, that he was fine, really, that he felt rested, that his ankle was almost healed...they'd moved him to this room a week ago. He'd called it, a bit grudgingly, the Quiet Room, and he was a little skeptical that their intentions weren't twofold - get him more rest, not have to listen to his whining. It seemed as though someone had made a small attempt to cheer up the room's grey walls by placing a small bundle of flowers on a nearby table, perhaps while he was sleeping, but the effect was dampened by the fact that they had since wilted, and made it seem more funeral-like than he cared to consider. Trevor was not a person to generally harbour pity towards himself, but he was growing restless waiting to be released back into the wild, so to speak, and it had begun to lend him fuel for thought. Because really, when you had exhausted other means of entertainment, like the two tattered paperbacks strewn next to the flowers, and counting the random tiles on the ceiling, and doodling patterns on your arms with a worn out pen, what else could you do but think?  The visits from friends had helped distract him, at least. Max had stopped by often, loud and playful and bright in an otherwise dreary place, and Tain, when he could get away from being dragged into helping some poor new hapless sap that had been mauled or stabbed or porcupine-d. Other acquaintances and friends had trickled in slowly but had eventually been distracted by the outside world, as life would have it. He hadn't minded so much then. Except now, most of the visits had stopped altogether, and so he was a little out of the loop on the highs and lows and updates of Carna's crafted world. As it were, he was currently propped on his side on his cot, poking through one of the novels again - a ratty and yellowed copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (ugh) - when the scent of another person, followed by their presence, caught his attention. He glanced up at her - perhaps a little too eagerly, a little too quick - and offered her a lopsided smile, tossing the book aside with haphazard delight. A visit usually meant news of some sort, something that he craved. The woman was pretty, petite, but with an aura of stern confidence that affirmed she was not one to trifle with. Trevor also knew her; she'd accompanied him on scouting missions before and they'd always gotten on well enough. "Hey Jocelyn," he greeted as he sat up, well aware that compared to her he looked like a hobo. And he could definitely tell that his hair was a bedhead mess. "Never better, can't you tell?" He quipped cheerfully, tone holding a teasing lilt, as it always did with most people he spoke with. Running a hand through his hair, he cast a hopeful look at her, "So...don't suppose you're gonna rescue me from these stone walls, by any chance? ...if not, then...how's the weather out there? They forgot to build a window in here. Hope we aren't buried in six feet of snow or something." The man paused, then blurted, "I'm fine, though, really, I am. I keep trying to tell the medics that but they just keep telling me more rest and..." He took a breath and slipped to his feet, lithe as his cat form despite his previous injuries, took a few quick steps to demonstrate that he was, indeed, just fine. "See? So much better. I can actually walk and everything." WE FORMED A NEW R E L I G I O N NO SINS AS LONG AS THERE'S P E R M I S S I O N

[JOCELYN]

It was stuffy in the room, and her sensitive nose picked up hints of the dead flowers, vomit, unwashed bodies, and the pure mustiness that could only be held by a dank room constantly occupied by sick people. Despite the unpleasant odor, she focused on Trevor. Her calculating eyes took him in, watching his breathing, the expression on his face, the lack of physical pain as he shifted onto his feet and moved as much as he could in the cramped space. She said nothing for a long moment before looking to the doctor. “Good enough for you?” she asked, her voice free of sarcasm or humor. The doctor shrugged, then nodded. At that moment, a Medic called to him and his head rose in perhaps too eager attention. “Yes well, if he injures it again he’ll have to be on even longer bed rest, but otherwise he should be fine. Excuse me, I have another patient to attend to,” he answered distractedly, and disappeared down the hall. Jocelyn and Trevor long forgotten the moment he had turned away. Jocelyn watched him walk away. If the doctor was releasing Trevor to get rid of him, he’d catch hell from her. However, he was a prideful sort – not one to sully his name for a shortcut. Her eyes shifted back to Trev who stood next to the bed, an anticipative expression on his face. “Alright. I need you on a Scouting mission. We’re coming up short and I don’t have anyone else. Griff is giving everyone a once over to see if someone hasn't gone out yet, otherwise … “ she paused. Jocelyn was not the type of leader to dictate and stand on the sidelines. It wasn’t really a question at this point that she would be included in this Scouting party. “…we’re on our own. But, if you come up lame because you’re not ready and we have to turn back – you’ll catch hell. Throw on some clothes and get ready. I’ll be outside,” she said brusquely, turned, and disappeared down the hall. Outside the Medical Ward, the cold wind cut across her sharply. Winter was here and despite the morning sun, the sky was clear and the temperature was nipping. It made her nose run almost instantly and she sniffed sharply a few times to clear it. Her hand went to her brow to shield her eyes, and shifted to her left as two figures approached. It was Griff, followed by a new and scrawny shifter that had barely seen three scouting missions. She looked him over, and turned to Griff expectantly. “He’s all I could find. He’s new but his shift is canine so he’s got a good nose. Needs some training, but he listens well,” said Griff tiredly. His eyes had dark marks beneath them, and she knew he’d been up far too long. “Sorry Jocelyn he’s all I could find.” “Thank you. Got get some rest, you’ve earned it - and get something to eat you missed last rations,” Jocelyn said quietly. Harold, their cook had likely saved something for him. He was good like that, always knowing who got what and when. Griff nodded, turned and wandered away toward the mess warehouse. The new Alpha was grateful for people like Griff. Without any positions occupied it was members like Griff that filled in the gaps. She would remember it later when she chose Leaders. Now, she turned her attention to the new Scout. He was of an average height, thin in body but solid in expression. He looked like he could be a scrapper. “What’s your name?” she asked, lifting her eyes to nod to Trevor when he emerged from the warehouse. “Merrik,” he said standing a bit taller. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen. Jocelyn inwardly sighed. Well, if she hadn’t planned on going, she was now. Injured, and inexperienced was just asking for trouble. She deliberated a moment, wondering if she should just take the mission on her own. She looked again to Trevor who, by the look in his eyes, would have to be muscled back into that room if she didn’t take him. Looking to the kid, he wouldn’t fancy being left behind either. “Alright,” she said and turned. “Let’s go.”

[Trevor Williams]

T R E V O R | W I L L I A M S Trevor fidgeted restlessly under the scrutiny of her gaze, though his immediate attention was drawn to the head medic as he caught sight of him leaning against the doorframe, all broad shoulders and stubble-cheeked. Trev's type, if he wasn't so damn serious. Which he was. As it were, the scout had little time for such thoughts, which were currently preoccupied on one thing only. Being freed from this bloody prison. Well? he thought, eyes narrowing as he stared him down. Let me go.  And then Trev let out a not-so-subtle breath a moment later - he hadn't even realized he'd been holding it - as the stand-off abruptly ended and he was granted leave with one single, blissful nod. The scout's anxious expression cracked, a grin hitching his mouth up, and he turned back to Jocelyn with a similar look of expectation before trotting over to her, eager for instructions after being deprived of them for so long.  He listened patiently, head tilting slightly to one side in a simple gesture of curiosity. Though she was a hunter, from what he recalled of the rank and file, it seemed she'd be accompanying him on whatever area they decided to scout, for which he was quietly grateful. Being out of the loop had also left him feeling rusty in skills, and he needed the quick reminders she'd surely provide to get him fully back in the swing of things. The only thing he was a little worried about was that the lack of exercise while on bed rest meant he was not in the peak physical condition he preferred for treks such as these, and hoped that he wouldn't tire if they travelled far. Then again, it wasn't as though he'd say so if he was, so the point - and worry - he decided, was moot. "I'm ready, believe me." he told her, nodding, and hoping it'd be enough to reassure her that he had no plans in re-fracturing his ankle. After the brief dismissal, he waited until she'd strode out of the room before hunting for some fresh clothes. It was slim pickings, but Otto had dropped off some of his clothes before for him, just in case something like this were to happen. He'd have to remember to repay him somehow. Trevor tugged on a striped shirt - a little tight in the arms but otherwise decent - and some new (old new, anyways) jeans, then slid his knife into his belt holster before slipping out the door to seek her out, testing his leg cautiously at first, and then with more confidence. The other reason he'd been confined to solitary, of course, was that he had been trying to stretch stiff muscles and visit other friends in the hospital wing - thus putting pressure on his ankle while it was still in the process of healing. It had caused something of a kerfuffle among the hospital staff who were no doubt as fed up with him as he was of them. But it was better now, and weight-bearing, and no trace of limping could be seen as he walked. When he emerged from the warehouse and into the bright sunlight outside, he immediately had to shade his eyes, which began to water. Days being cooped in a much-darker building had rendered him temporarily sensitive to any sort of light, and as he wandered over to stand beside Jocelyn and the other kid she'd recruited, he had to squint to even try to see him. He looked new, and smelt it too, but Trevor wasn't the judging sort, not when he hadn't had the chance to shower yet, and offered him a cheery smile by way of greeting before sticking out his hand. "Name's Trevor...and, I think you said your name was Merrik, yeah?" He nodded, dropping his hand after. Offhandedly he noted that the kid was kind of cute, if you tilted your head the right way. Dark hair, brown eyes. It was hard for Trevor not to notice things like that - he was a shameless observer of people. A people watcher. Which sounded way creepier than he meant for it to be.  They set out soon after that, Trevor breathing in the cool morning air with starved lungs. They were heading in the general direction of retro territory, as far as he could tell. While the retros were a nasty bunch, he hadn’t heard about any activity from them in quite some time, and if he had to choose, he’d rather deal with them over other rings any day of the week. As it were, his companions were a bit on the quiet side, which was understandable but also made him somehow more restless than he already was. And so he piped up again, eager for conversation and news as they slunk across a grassy field crisped with frost, “Soooo,” He ducked under a low-hanging branch as they reached the edge of a forest, “How’ve the other rings been acting towards us lately? Been many fights or has it been all…y’know, sunshine and daisies? So to speak, anyways. Last I heard it was snowing.” ooc; mercy me i apologize for the delay ;3; my store has gone on liquidation and it has been ABSOLUTE MADNESS these last few days D: and i'm not sure if i gave you enough to work with, pleaseeee let me know if it's not ._. WE FORMED A NEW R E L I G I O N NO SINS AS LONG AS THERE'S P E R M I S S I O N

[JOCELYN]

the violence causes silence Jocelyn was careful with the pace she set. For one, Merrik was likely unaccustomed to any kind of cross country traveling let alone hasty cross country traveling. Two, although Trevor was certainly accustomed to land of all classes Joss was uninterested in pacing him into the ground while still on the mend. Their only saving grace was that this particular scouting section was none too far. It should only take the morning and perhaps eat into the afternoon a bit – certainly before sundown. They made quicker work of the forest than Jocelyn had thought they might, but it was still early. The silence was nice for Jocelyn. It meant she could keep her sharp ears locked on their surroundings. Thus far, there was not a single stir that would suggest problems … but that could always change. She felt twice on edge for the fact that she knew nothing of Merrik’s fighting skills, and the Trevor was compromised - but it’s what she had. It was an uphill battle for the new Alpha. The reorganization of the Carna and the changing of ranks had people frazzled and confused. She had not yet gotten her Beta or Delta in order, and their absence was felt. It left every little thing for Jocelyn to take care of herself. The small amount of sleep she had managed earlier was the first she’d had in a few days. Trevor’s sudden question was answered by Jocelyn’s quiet tones. “They are quiet – for now. We will have to see if things vary for any of the Rings once they are made aware of our losses and … changes.” There was still a part of her that was unbelieving that she had been selected, but it was not something she would have admitted to even Seija. After a while, Merrik began talking. Quietly, granted, and he was talking to Trevor; Comments, questions, jokes, things that buzzed through Jocelyn’s head like a fly in a barn. Ahead, there was movement and a sharp shhh escaped her as she lowered on her toes, her machete drawn and fingers to the ground in one graceful drop. She froze, her rich blue eyes scanning for signs of movement. There was nothing. Her gaze lifted to catch Trevor’s attention and her eyebrows rose once in silent question. You game to take lead, or shall I? Trevor’s reflexes before his injury were excellent. She’d seen him move and move fast. Jocelyn’s strength lay in the waiting, in drawing her prey to her in the night, in the surprise attack. If there was anything ahead, they already knew they were there.

WORDS:437 | TAGS:Trevor Williams | IRONCHILD@THEMENAGERIE

[Trevor Williams]

T R E V O R | W I L L I A M S Trevor nodded his head in silent acknowledgement at Jocelyn’s answer, though the mention of changes in the ring gave him pause. What sort of changes? Significant ones? Had anyone died, needing replacement? Or had they just been holed up like him in that shack of a medic’s quarters and needed a temporary substitute? Who though? He was half-inclined to ask her, but somehow felt that bombarding her with questions would land him squarely on the ‘annoying – do not engage under normal circumstances’ board, so he shut up. For all of five minutes, until Merrik started to chat him up a little more. With the cravings for social interaction still humming through him, he couldn’t help but carry the conversation. That is, of course, until they were both shushed rather suddenly by Jocelyn, and Trev fell quiet again, taking her lead and dropping to the ground in a crouch, the other boy following suite. Every muscle was tense and every sense was on high alert as he scanned the terrain in front of them with bright teal eyes. Where…..no…..he could see nothing, but he trusted Jocelyn’s instincts, which were polished compared to his own as of late, and the fact that it was almost too quiet lent him a certain unease. No birds chirping, nothing. He tilted his head up to see if he could try and catch some sort of scent, but what he could smell was faint and unrecognizable, a hint of musk and ash that spoke of no rings. Rogues, maybe? Rogues had been a problem in the past, but they usually didn’t venture too close to the actual territories lest they valued their throats. He shifted his gaze to Jocelyn again and caught her look, the meaning not lost on him, and he inclined his head a little in agreement before slipping lithely into his much smaller jaguarundi form and slinking ahead, barely leaving a trace of pawprints as he moved. He headed for the small thicket of trees nearest to where the apparent something had been, and snuck up the tree as quickly and quietly as he dared, claws sinking into the bark to help with his grip. The boy had always been a fair climber, as he’d had ample practice sidling up the tall oak trees in his backyard at home. A few falls here and there had only served as a means to solidify his determination to actually learn how to remain balanced on the upmost branches, and this experience helped him now as he pressed his belly flat against an overhanging branch. It was too heavy for his human form, but perfectly suited as a lookout point for his feline one. Trev was not quite prepared for the sight he found, however, and his eyes widened in an equal mix of surprise and horror. It was Zane. Or what was left of him, anyways. Trevor swallowed hard to try and keep the bile rising in his throat at bay, watching as the young man twitched. It wasn’t him, though, he wasn’t alive. Not when he was missing half his throat and a good portion of his left side. No, what was causing the rustling were the dogs who were devouring him. It wasn’t fair to call them dogs, really – they were wild, and there was nothing about their looks that read as anything but feral, until he noticed that one of them was human too. Blood dripped off his hair and matted it in places. Trevor would have thrown up by then, if not for the wave of anger that coursed through him hotly. These were rogues. Starving rogues, to be sure, but rogues all the same. Whether they were retros or shifters, he couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter at this point because they had killed and eaten one of the Carna’s hunters. And they said the Carna were cannibals?! How had rogues even gotten so far in? Disgusted, Trev snuck back down the tree, ears flattening when one of the dogs looked up with a suspicious growl at one point, but he managed to get away unscathed. He made his way back to Jocelyn to relay the unfortunate news, in a quiet purr of shiftertongue, “Rogue dogs, four of them. They…got Zane. He’s dead, and they’re….eating..him.” He winced at the last few words as he said it, because there really was no glossing over that fact. And the boy knew that he would never be able to get that image out of his head. ooc; AGH, FINALLY. ._. I’mreallysorryforthewait? If you need anything edited, let me know. I’m such a trashheap, man. </3 WE FORMED A NEW R E L I G I O N NO SINS AS LONG AS THERE'S P E R M I S S I O N

[JOCELYN]

the violence causes silence Trevor nodded, easily grasping her silent query and shifted into something that looked like a cat crossed with a weasel. Kind of. Her eyes narrowed and her head tilted slightly in interest as he snuck off into the trees. He was deadly quiet - even with his healing injury. The imperceptible lift in the corner of her mouth betrayed her otherwise blank expression. She was pleased with her choice in bringing him. She wanted to get to know her people as well as she could, whom to call upon for different tasks. She had been told he was rather stealthy – and now it was no secret why. Time drifted by slowly, punctuated by the random distant irritations Jocelyn had in telling the boy behind her to shush twice, then fixing him with an impressive stare when he lost his balanced crouch and almost fell on his rear end. One brow rose in a quelling expression until, wordlessly scolded, he finally quieted. Not long after, Trevor appeared amongst the bracken of the forest and Jocelyn immediately sensed something was wrong. With the news of Zane’s death, the back of her mind fell away and her chest tightened. Damn. Anger flared within her – swallowing the initial sorrow that trickled through her heart. Her outer expression remained placid, save the hardening of her jaw muscles as she ground her teeth, and the flare of violence in her eyes. “Four dogs?” she said quietly as she slowly rose to her feet, and, walking quite casually toward the rouges said icily, “Four dead dogs.” She didn’t like needless killing, but neither would she tolerate her comrades being eaten. The moment she reached the small clearing she sent her small daggers into the furthest animal, and slung her curved machete across the trivial distance to decapitate the closest. With a whirl for force … suddenly a fifth dog flung itself into the fray, and Jocelyn halted her straight machete just in time. The fifth dog was a friendly, just not one she was currently happy with. Merrik. He was some kind of shepherd dog, dark with bright amber eyes. Although he was the larger dog, the rouge he took on was far more seasoned, and the canine fight was pushed from her mind to deal with the mastiff looking cur that had turned on his heels to lunge at her savagely.

WORDS:390+ | TAGS:Trevor Williams | IRONCHILD@THEMENAGERIE